Every Scar Has a Story
by VioletShadows01
Summary: She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more than that. This is the story of Daryl Dixon and Rayne Michaels. Starts pre-apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter One  
**_Outcasts Stick Together_

* * *

Daryl could recite their first meeting by heart. It wasn't exactly the type of meeting a person could forget. He hadn't expected it. It had been just a normal day in Northern Georgia, the cool temperature marking the turning point of Winter meeting Spring. He had been out, getting supplies for his upcoming hunt with his brother when he spotted the beginnings of a scuffle out of the corner of his eye. He snorted, seeing the Letterman jackets, and had been close to brushing it off as school-age dramatics.

That had been until he caught sight of vibrant, black-cherry red curls bouncing as a petite girl stumbles back from the punch, her head snapped to the side. His eyes widen, fingers clenching the steering wheel as he fights the urge to stop the guys from beating up some girl. Men don't hit women. His dark blue eyes watch, his inner conflicts flickering through his gaze as the girl turns her gaze on the guys, her fingers brushing along the cut under her left eye, just along the curve of her cheekbone. Surprise fills him as the tiny girl dressed in denim, leather and chains drops her single-strapped messenger bag to the ground before launching herself at the boy that hit her. It was when the two other guys joined in the fight that Daryl finds himself getting out of his truck.

"The fuck ya' think yer doin'?" Daryl sneers as he yanks back one of the kids, pulling his head back to dodge the punch thrown at him.

Lost in a tangle of limbs and punches being thrown, Daryl grunts as he slams one of them into the side of the truck the guys must have been driving. Turning back around, his dark blue gaze lands on the brown-haired kid pressing the girl against the brick wall, her face growing red as his thick forearm presses against her throat, cutting off her air supply. Not thinking of anything other than a guy twice the size of a woman assaulting her in such a fashion, Daryl grabs the kid by his shoulder, yanking him around only to slam his fist into the kid's temple. Seeing him laid out, Daryl takes in a deep breath before turning to the girl on the ground.

Damn, he muses as he sees the blood trickling down her bruised cheek. Her eyes shut and her chest heaved heavily for air, the front of her black Pantera t-shirt torn at the collar, causing it to hang over her shoulder loosely. Kneeling down in front of her, he looks over her pale, bruised and bloody face, watching her tongue trace over her bottom lip, causing the silver hoop pierced through her bottom lip to shift slightly.

"Ya' alright, girl?"

His gruff voice seems to cause her to jolt out of her thoughts, her eyelids sliding apart to reveal startlingly and impossibly bright green-grey eyes. He had never seen a pair of eyes like these. He can feel his own eyes widen from the shock, watching her own widen as if surprised someone had stopped to help her. He leans back as she moves to her feet, her hands brushing off her clothes before coming to the rip in her shirt. Fierce anger and dismay fills her eyes before she turns to the unconscious teen, her boot-clad foot slamming into his unprotected side.

"Asshole! Ripped my fuckin' shirt."

A shiver travels up his spine, a curious reaction. Her voice lacked the prominent southern drawl, her words articulated and well-cultured. Her voice, naturally huskier than most women he knew. As if she had swallowed a spoonful of honey and her words continued to get caught along her throat.

"Prolly just get a new one," he remarks, causing her to turn her striking gaze back to him.

She glances down, fingering the tear before her shoulders shrug, "Probably just wear it as is. Shirt belonged to a good friend of mine. Kind of sentiment value." Daryl nods, unsure of what to say next as he watches her gather her bag from the ground, watching her hand dig around before she pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Surprised as she offers him one, he gingerly takes one from the pack, watching as she inhales deeply, "Well, uh, thanks for helping, I guess."

She turns on heel and again, he finds his gaze following her as she walks off. Well, limps off is more like it. He wonders how long she can keep up walking when her leg seems to be giving her problems. Nibbling on his thumbnail for a moment, he groans inwardly.

"Ya' need a ride, er sumthin'?" he asks, dropping his thumb from his mouth as she turns to him again.

"Wouldn't be smart of me if I get in a vehicle with a stranger, now would it?" she questions, a curious gleam in her gaze that makes him shift before he nods, turning on his heel to walk off. He barely gets a few feet away before her voice calls out, "Rayne," Ray-knee? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Half turning, he catches her gaze again, seeing an amused smirk tug at her lips, "My name is Rayne Michaels."

Blinking in surprise, he finds himself introducing himself before he can stop, "Daryl Dixon."

"Well, now that we're not strangers, can I take up that offer of a ride?" she questions.

Realizing that she had been yanking his chain, Daryl smothers a smirk, motioning for her to follow him. Waiting for her to climb into his truck, he pulls off of the side of the road and follows her directions. Occasionally he glances over at her, catching sight of her rubbing at her knee, or her fingers tapping against her thigh. She's not like any girl he's ever seen.

"Where ya' from?" His question pulls her gaze from staring out of the window, her eyebrow cocking curiously, "Ain't ever heard an accent like yers. Ain't ever seen sumone like yerself around here neither."

"Oh," she hums out thoughtfully, "I was born and raised in New England territory. New Hampshire to be exact. Old family made up of old traditions and even older money," He tilts his head curiously as her voice grows darker with annoyance, "Where the women gossip over tea and the men talk business over a glass of scotch. Where expectations are high and zero tolerance for rebellion is found."

"Why are ya' here o'all places?" he asks, not particularly liking the empty tone in her voice.

"Parents sent me here to live with my Aunt Nicole. Didn't want me and my rebellious streak to taint the family image," she scoffs, rolling her eyes, "Never really understood it. It's not like I do drugs, or go out causing trouble. Just a couple of crazy friends, going to concerts and underground clubs."

A realization falls over Daryl, causing him to grow quiet. She was like him. Different. Labeled. Outcast. Hated for who she is. He can see the loner, anti-social gleam in her eye. The way she charged into the fight without a second thought, quick to defend herself. She was used to being beat on. She was used to being looked at differently, glared and sneered at. Being hated for who you are, judged by association.

Pulling up to the driveway of a two-story blue house, Rayne gathers her things and flashes him a small smile, "Well, thanks again. It's not really my style to owe someone, so if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask." Daryl blinks, surprised by the offer, "Hey, I pay my dues. Not many people selflessly stand to defend someone like me, so...I owe you."

Watching her as she hops out of the truck and slips inside the house, he muses over why he would ever need her help? He can take care of himself.

* * *

He ignores the pain, favoring the cold, numb feeling flooding over him as the rain pours down, soaking him to his bones. He can feel the aches and pains along his body, inwardly cursing his old man. He curses his brother for being a fucking idiot and leaving him alone with the sadistic, alcoholic. He curses his life, wondering why God, if there is one, stuck him in Hell. Stumbling across the backyard of a familiar blue house, he pauses, musing over whether or not he should even bother her.

He didn't know why, but after the fight, he found himself giving her a lift home every day. She only ever spoken when he did, and it took awhile for him to realize she didn't want to be a bother to him. He didn't understand who put the thought into her head. Whenever they did talk, he found her amusing, almost morbid sense of humor, not so different than his own outlook. She was smart, hell of a lot smarter than him. Despite her appearance, she cares a lot about her schooling, never missing a day of school, or getting any marks below perfect. She wanted to be an artist, from what she said, a sketch artist or photography. It had only been a few months since the fight and he could tell people whispered about their timidly growing friendship, frowning upon it. Her Aunt Nicole didn't mind him, surprisingly. The raven-haired older woman had simply accepted that they were friends, not bothered by his family name, nor the five year age difference between him and her sixteen-year-old niece.

Feeling a tremor of pain and cold flow through his body, he achingly pulls himself up the side of the house, using the over-hanging ceiling of the back porch to stand on as he peers into the dimly lit bedroom. It was late, he knew, but he is only mildly surprised to see his friend walking around her bedroom in a pair of cotton shorts and a long-sleeved thermal shirt, sporting another logo of yet another band. Knocking on her window, he watches as she turns on point before cautiously approaching the window. Her bright gaze widens in horror and shock before the window slides up, slamming against the top frame. A surprised gasp leaves his lips as her hands grab onto the front of his drenched t-shirt and he is forcefully yanked into the room. Groaning at the pain in his body, he shudders as a warm hand presses against the back of his neck, the red-head kneeling next to him. Nothing is said as she gathers his hands in her smaller ones, pulling him to his feet. Her hands work quick and without pause, a hot flush decorating his cheeks as she strips off his wet clothing, leaving him in a pair of boxers. She walks away for a moment, digging around in her closet before she pulls out a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not her own.

"Here. Put these on. I'm going to be right back."

His gaze follows her as she gathers his wet clothing before disappearing from the room. She isn't asking any questions. Slipping into the warm sweatpants, feeling them hang along his hips, he wonders why she doesn't seem to be bothered by his arrival. Why does she keep men's clothing in her closet? Lost in his thoughts, he jumps when a warm, dry towel is placed over his head, nimble fingers rubbing into his scalp, drying his hair. As the towel drops from his head, he finds himself staring into her unique eyes, focus and determination darkening them only slightly as she works to wipe away the rain, blood and dirt from his face, slowly moving to his bruised torso. He remains silent as she digs into a first aid kit at her side, working to disinfect the cuts along his face and torso, her eyebrows knitting as she comes across the long cut along the right side of his chest. He flinches as she pour the disinfectant over the long cut, turning her attention to the first aid kit and he feels himself tense as she pulls out a needle and thread. Her calm gaze meets his briefly, urging him to let her do it, and he nods wordlessly, watching her as she carefully begins to stitch the cut. As the gauze is taped over the cut, her fingers smoothing the tape along the edges, she falls back to her haunches as begins to pack away the first aid kit. Unsure of what to do as she slips out of the room again, he drops his gaze to the bandage along his chest. He had never had someone take care of him. It was a weakness to allow someone to see you vulnerable. He knew that. Yet, this young girl said nothing, asked no questions, only offered her help.

A warm hand grabs his and he looks up again as she pulls him to his feet, tugging him to the bed. He swallows thickly as she wordlessly instructs him to lay down, a comforter pulled over him and he feels the subtle pressure of more blankets piling on top. He hadn't even realized he had been shivering until the warmth wrapped around him. An additional pressure presses down on the bed and his body tenses as a new, fresh warmth presses against his back, a lean arm wrapping around his chest, careful of his injury. He shudders, unfamiliar with such blatant compassion, another tremor racing up his spine as her gentle breath brushing along his bare back. Sinking into the warmth provided by the body pressed against him, Daryl Dixon allows himself to drift into a dreamless sleep.

A ray of sunlight causes him to stir from his slumber, his chest rumbling as he inwardly grumbles. He didn't want to leave the warmth wrapped around him. He can't remember a time where he had ever slept so well before. Slowly blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he finds his face only inches from a familiar pale face framed by black-cherry red curls. Glancing down, he finds his arm thrown over her side, his fingers splayed out and palm flat against the smooth skin of her back. Her own hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart, her fingers curled only slightly that he figured if he had been wearing a shirt, it would be clenched in her fingers, her head nestled comfortably against his left shoulder. As his gaze moves back up to her chest, his eyes settles on the small, thin white scar along the top of her cheekbone. Without thinking, his hand moves from her back as he reaches up, his thumb carefully tracing over the scar. The only thing that marks a constant reminder that she was real, that she was a part of his life. He marvels inwardly at the small raised skin of her scar, the contrast it provides against her smooth features. She isn't a conventional beauty. People would have to look past the piercings, the dark make-up she sometimes wears, and the outlandish clothing she wears. His hand twitches, as if burned, as her eyes snap open, the alert gleam in her eyes softening.

Licking his chapped lips, ignoring the odd feeling in his chest, he murmurs, "G'mornin'."

A soft smile tugs at her lips, "Mornin'. Everything okay?"

"I..." he pauses, trying to figure out what to say. Swallowing needlessly, staring into her soft gaze, the words leave his lips before he can stop them, "Why? Why'd ya do it?" He continues, seeing the cocked eyebrow, "Ya' didn't ask 'bout it. Why?"

A warm hand gently cups his cheek, his eyes widening at the unfamiliar touch, "Those of us cast out of society only ever rely on ourselves. In my mind, us outcasts have to stick together." She drops her hand, shrugging slightly, "I didn't ask because I figured you'd talk about it if you needed to. I'm not going to push for answers. You're not the type for heart-to-heart conversations."

He snorts in amusement, earning a small, light chuckle from the girl, who sits up, stretching her arms over her head, "Well, come on. Let's get some breakfast."

He watches her as she moves around the kitchen, whipping up a warm, hearty breakfast. Stick together, huh? He muses over her words and finds a small smile tugging along his lips. She might be unconventional, but he knew, at that moment as he watched her dance her way around the kitchen, he was just as much hers as she was his.

* * *

**Author's Note: I know it seems like a softer side of Daryl, but he doesn't really come off as someone who has ever really been taken care of, or been on the receiving end of compassion. Rayne is quiet, but insightful, and I figured Daryl would be more welcoming to someone that doesn't demand answers, but instead just takes action and does what needs to be done, someone that doesn't have expectations, but instead just accepts things for what they are. Let me know what you guys think. I've read so many stories where Daryl is difficult to be around, or argumentative, but those are based off of how we, the fans, first see Daryl, which he had just learned his brother had been left on a rooftop, I wanted to try and get into the head of the Daryl we know now. I'm not very familiar with the Southern Drawl, so I'm trying to write his speech as best as possible.**

**Thanks for reading. Leave a review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**_Broken Homes_

* * *

Two years. Daryl Dixon could barely believe they've known each other for two years. He has lost count how many times they've had to patch each other up, Rayne infamous for getting into fights at school, while Daryl earns more of his bruises from his family. He knew Rayne understood his home life. She seemed to understood why he didn't shed a tear when his old man died, or when his brother got thrown into rehab last year. Out of those two years, she would often spend the week between Christmas and New Year's and a month of her summer break back up north. She always seemed darker each time she came back to Georgia, but slowly he would watch her change back to her old self. He learned over those two years that she was eccentric, bold and a certifiable klutz. She walked into door frames, fell both down and _up_ stairs and tripped over flat surfaces. Though, when in the heat of the moment, in the midst of a fight, no one would believe she normally trips over her own feet.

He didn't realize she knew all too well what living in a broken home was like. Not until the day he received a frantic phone call from his Aunt Nicole.

"'Ello?" he calls into the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as he wipes away the motor oil and grease from his hands.

"Daryl! Thank God!" He blinks at frantic tone in the voice of his friend's aunt, "Please! I don't know what to do! She won't move, won't blink, and God...the blood," His heart jumped into his throat at her frantic cry, "She won't let me touch her. Please, I don't know what to do."

Quickly letting her know he's on his way, he slams down the phone and rushes out to his truck. Ignoring speed limits, he tears down the street, having long since memorized the way to Rayne's house. The images in his head make his fingers clench around the steering wheel, his heart racing with each possibility that pops in his head. Without bothering to take his keys out of the ignition, he leaps from his truck, the front door of the blue house slamming against the wall behind it as he races into the house. Hearing the sobs from the kitchen, he skids to halt at the sight of his source of comfort curled into herself against the wall, her head resting on the side of the floor cupboards under the kitchen counter. The crimson dripping down the side of her arm and onto the floor causes his throat to close up at the sight of the nasty cut across her wrist. He doesn't miss the kitchen knife gripped in her other hand, blood coloring the edge of the blade. He grows sick, wishing that it was anything other than what it looked like. Taking a step closer, his boots crackling as he steps over broken glass, he kneels in front of his friend, blue eyes staring into blank, green-grey eyes he adored more than she knew.

"Ray?" he calls out carefully, his hand reaching out, fingers barely dragging across her cheek. Hurt flashes through him as she visibly flinches, and it is then that he realizes she didn't do this to herself. "Ray? C'mon, Sugar, let me take the knife."

As his fingers curl around the kitchen knife, he sighs inwardly as relief floods through him, her own grip releasing the blade. Tossing it across the floor, not caring where it went, Daryl carefully cups her cheek, watching recognition flicker through her eyes. Relief washes over him as he swallows down the nausea, his hands threading through the hair along the back of her head, pulling her to him, her body limp and unresponsive as he inhales the scent that has always followed around her. Honeysuckle and vanilla. Not overpowering, a soft, subtle scent. As he takes in another deep breath, trying to slow down his heart, his shoulders grow tense as he smells a familiar metallic, almost copper, scent. Pulling his head back, he then realizes the fingers along the back of her head are moist and seeing the dark crimson along his fingertips, he shakes his head.

"C'mon, Sugar. Let's get ya' cleaned up," Daryl murmurs gently.

Lifting her petite body off of the glass-covered floor, he nods carefully at her aunt, who flashes him a watery smile, before he stalks up to her bedroom. After so many 'patching up' sessions, Rayne had left a first aid kit in her room. Setting her on the same chair he often occupied, he gathers the first aid kit and begins to clean and bandage the cut along her wrist. The one on the back of her head is difficult to bandage without future hair pulling. Running a thumb along her bruised cheek, he watches as her gaze slowly becomes more soft.

"Ya' hurtin' anywhere else, Ray?" he asks softly.

She seems to hesitate before nodding, almost reluctant to let him know. He is forced to sit back as she shifts in the chair and as she turns, Daryl finds himself biting the inside of his cheek at the sight of several, small tears in her shirt along her back. Pondering over how, he remembers the broken glass on the floor and sighs. Nibbling on his thumbnail for a brief moment, he swallows back his inner thoughts before carefully pulling the shirt over her head. Most of the small, red cuts along her back were already scabbing over, the bright color clashing against her pale skin. Removing the tweezers from the kit, he slowly and carefully begins the long, tedious job of removing the glass from her back. Most were small. There was one that made him curse, watching as what had appeared to be a small shard seemed to grow as he pulled it out of her shoulder. Disinfecting the many cuts, he wanders over to her closet to pull out a random, clean shirt. Pulling it over her head, he makes sure she has no other injuries before pulling her back to her bed. Laying down on his side, he watches as her eyes stare up at the ceiling. Slowly, but surely, he witnesses as crystal clear tears pool in her eyes, each tear trailing along her temples and to her ears. Over the past two years, he noticed she's not the type of girl to wail, or sob uncontrollably. No, the few times he's seen her break down, the tears flow silently and her body shakes and shudders with each muted sob.

Not having the heart to watch his friend cry, he tugs her into him, his arm carefully wrapping around her, fingers threading through her hair. He remembered the first time he witnessed a change in her hair. She had left for her first summer break, a month spent away. He almost didn't recognize the girl with thick, tightly-spun black curls and electric blue streaks. Each time she left and came back, her hair would change. Sometimes he wonders why she does it. Why does she always want to be so different. Slowly, he realized that with each change in color, meant another reason her family discouraged her from being herself. Twirling a silver curl around his finger, he presses a gentle kiss against her temple.

"They disowned me."

The words were spoken so softly that he would've missed them if the room wasn't so quiet to begin with. Glancing down at her, he muses over her blank, empty stare, her finger tracing over the scar along his chest.

"Wha?" he grunts.

"My parents...they disowned me. Said if I was willing to change my ways, if I wasn't willing to follow their rules and structure, then I didn't deserve to be a part of the family. Didn't like that I wanted something different with my life. That I didn't want to marry Aaron Stevens, just to connect the two families. That I didn't want to attend an Ivy League school, no matter how many of them accepted applications."

"Thought yer goin' ta school after ya' graduate?" he questions, surprised by her admission.

"My father...or he was...showed up to talk to me about attending Yale or some stupid stuffy university," she pauses, her teeth playing with that lip ring of hers, "He found my letter of acceptance to the Art Academy of Atlanta," Daryl feels his eyes widen. She had never said she would stay in Georgia after graduating high school. "He demanded an answer. Told him to go fuck himself. Fight broke out. Scotch glass was thrown. My head hit the edge of the counter. I grabbed a knife. Caught him one, right along the cheek. Told him to get the fuck out. Didn't realize I landed on my arm and back."

Daryl carefully cups her cheek, lifting her empty gaze to him, his own sparkling with gentle warmth, "Ya' mean ta tell me, yer gonna be stickin' 'round?" Her eyes glance away and he taps her chin, pulling her gaze back to his, "Hey. Don' worry yerself, Sugar. We can be each other's family. Ya' be mine, an' I be yers."

The emptiness in her eyes seems to sink away, replaced with somber, surprised warmth, "You sure you can handle me?"

"Don' go insultin' me, now," he teases, tapping her forehead playfully, "I mean what I say. Yer mine and I be yers. No one else can take that away from us. Yer gonna go ta yer school it Atlanta and Imma see ya' every chance ya' get."

Her face is blank for a moment, his words sinking in, before a broad, bright smile stretches across her lips. Seeing the bright spark in her eyes, he can't stop the returning smile that forms along his own features. His head dips forward and he presses a feather-soft kiss along her cheekbone, right above the scar that is a constant reminder of how she came to be in his life. A giggle breaks from her and he pulls back, shooting a questioning look in her direction.

"Sorry. I just realized my wrist is going to make people think I'm some depressed emo, douche bag," she says between her giggles.

Shaking his head at her, he presses another soft kiss to her forehead, softly instructing her to close her eyes and go to sleep. He isn't sure how long he lays there, watching her sleep, the slow, repetitive raise and fall of her chest as she slips into a deep slumber. Thankful that she is alright, Daryl's eyes slide shut as he wraps around the only constant that invaded his life two years ago.

* * *

His dark blue eyes watches from the doorway as she dances around the kitchen, her Rock music filling the air, as she begins to prepare dinner. He hadn't wanted to leave her this morning, but he needed to get back to work and promised to be back after he was done. Seeing her back to her old self, the gentle sways of her hips as she bounces from the stove, over to the counter, her fingers nimble and quick as she chops up various vegetable, Daryl allows a soft smile to form on his lips. Letting out a low, playful cat-call whistle, she whirls around, never once stopping in her carefree bouncing and swaying as she flashes him a wink and points to the table with her knife. Getting the message, he washes the dirt, grease and oil off of his hands before moving around to set the table, remembering his mama's teachings before she passed away.

"I got ya' sumthin'," he states after swallowing a bite of the stir-fry she whipped up, her bright eyes finding his own as he slides a small bag across the table. "Figured they were yer style."

Her eyes soften as she pulls out a pair of dark purple, soft-leather cuff bracelets from the back. She's always voiced purple as being her favorite color, and he had figured they would be a perfect way to hide the nasty scar that is bound to form across her wrist. The smile she gives him makes his cheeks burn, his head ducking as he watches through the messy bangs of his hair, the leather wrapping around her wrists. Unlike most cuffs that snap together, these a person had to lace through the two, thin leather belts and hooks. Watching as she adjusts them for comfort, her gaze finds his once more and she leans across the table, her warm, moist lips pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his lips.

"Thanks, Daryl."


	3. Chapter 3

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**_Blood of Innocence_

* * *

He wasn't sure how they came to this point. He could understand the reasoning. She was leaving for Atlanta in the afternoon to get settled into her dorm. Her request was not something he had expected as they laid sprawled across her bed. Of all people, it sure as hell wasn't him he figured she'd ask. Then again, he wasn't sure he'd like if someone else took up her offer.

"Sorry. Yer gonna have ta say that again, cause I thought I just heard ya' ask me ta..." he chokes on the word.

It isn't that he hasn't done it before. He just ain't ever do it with someone he actually cares about. Seeing the pleading look in her eyes, he looks away, unsure of how to go about this.

"Please, Daryl. I don't want to be one of those girls that gets horribly drunk at a part and loses her virginity. I don't like living with regrets and I want to make sure, if I'm going to lose it, it will be with someone I care about," she reasons.

"Are ya' sure?" She nods curtly, "Cause if we do this, there ain't no goin' back."

"Daryl," he freezes as both of her hands cup his face, those bright eyes staring at him with such trust that he swallows needlessly, "Please don't make me beg. This isn't going to change how I look at you. Remember. You are mine as I am yours. No one, not one thing, not even sex, can change that."

Hating the fact that she uses his own words against him, he smiles softly, nodding his head, "Alright, Sugar."

No words are said as he grabs the back of her head, pulling her kneeling form flush against his body, his mouth enveloping her own. The odd contrast of cold metal and warm lips causes him to shudder as he flicks his tongue along the metal ring, his teeth nipping at it, tugging it. As her lips part, a heated gasp leaving her, his own tongue delves in, wanting to taste her. The moment he does, his hand resting at the small of her back squeezes, pressing her tight to him as he searches for more of her delicious taste. He feels her shudder as his hand slides up her back, bringing her shirt along with it. Tossing it over his back, both of them moan softly as skin meets skin, his lips breaking away from her own as they trail along her neck. He focuses on the small noises and her sudden jerks as he nips at her sensitive flesh, the hunter in him demanding he claim his prey. What sweet prey she is, he muses as his tongue drags along the length of her shoulder bone, his teeth nipping at the apex of her neck and shoulder.

His fingers make work of her bra, unsnapping it and pulling it away from her, exposing her small, ample breasts. He marvels over her tiny figure, his hands coming up the length of her sides to cup her supple breasts, enjoying the way they perfectly fit in his hands. His thumbs trace over her tightening buds, a strangled gasp leaving her lips and he smirks at how responsive her body is. So innocent and beautiful. His lips press against the top of the swell of her breast before he carefully runs his tongue over one of the dark, pink nipples. Hearing another beautiful moan leave her lips, he smirks against her breast as he suckles and licks along her sensitive nipples, her skin one of his favorite features. A shudder ripples through him as her own fingers crawl up his back, through his hair at the back of his head, gripping him as her back arches, her body pressing closer.

His arm wraps around her back, pulling her to her chest as he kisses his way back up to his lips. Leaning forward, he presses her into the mattress, marveling once more at the unconventional beauty beneath him. The softness of her skin flush against his hard, taunt muscles causes him to let out a groan as his hand slips down her side. Slowly pulling her cotton shorts and panties down the length of her legs, he watches her back arch, her beautiful eyes rolling as his hand slowly trails back up her legs. A wanton hiss leaves his lips as his fingers press against her heat, a groan rumbling in his chest as his fingers slide along her moist slit. Her back arches again, hips jerking as he locates the hidden, sensitive nub along the top of her opening. He's always enjoyed watching her reactions, but now, he knows he will forever want to remember this moment. No matter what happens between now and then, he will always remember the softness of her skin, the moisten heat that seems to pool as her body reacts so responsively to his touch.

As his fingers coat in her body's juices, he carefully and slowly inserts a single finger inside her warmth. His groan echoes her choked moan as he feels the tight warmth around his finger. Slowly working his finger in and out of her warmth, he dips his head down, wanting another taste of her. Her skin tinged with salt as a thin layer of sweat forms along her body and he soaks in the flavor. He continues his assault on her body, adding another digit as he slowly stretches her tight opening, preparing her for what is to come. Feeling the tension climb in her body, he watches her eyes widen and as her lips part, a long-drawn out feminine mewing moan leaving her lips as she falls apart, tumbling over the edge of her climax. Pulling his fingers from her, he doesn't bother to hide his need to taste her as his tongue trails over each digit. Honeysuckle. She tastes as delightful as she smells. He smirks as a blush tinges her cheeks, rarely ever had he seen her blush from embarrassment.

Stripping himself of his last clothing, he gives her body time to relax, laying his naked body over her own. Leaving a trail of kisses along her neck, face and lips, he gives her one last questioning look. At her nod, he presses his lips to hers, swallowing her cry of pain as he slips into her heat, removing the last trace of her innocence. Drowning in the warmth of her, he shudders briefly as her hips move against him, urging him to move. Setting a slow, steady pace, he watches her eyes widen with each thrust, her head falling back as he manages to hit the hidden, sweet spot deep within her. A whine slips pass his lips when she pleads for more, his hips bucking to her request as he picks up the pace. Pulling himself upright, his hands grip her hips, lifting them off the bed as her legs tighten around his waist. Slamming home, a spark of pride fills him as cries of pleasure leave her lips with each thrust. He should have know she wasn't the type for slow and romantic.

"D-Daryl!" she chokes out.

"Say it 'gain," he bites out, loving the way her voice seems thicker than usual as it cloaked around his name.

"Daryl!"

He groans as she repeats it with each thrust, his movements becoming erratic as he feels himself growing close to his own climax. It isn't until her back snaps into a sudden arch, her inner warmth tightening around his length with an impossibly tight grip, pulsing as her warmth floods around him. Groaning out her own name, he feels himself spill into her, her body milking him of all he has. As they both climb back down from their highs, he collapses on top of her, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her body. Nothing is said as they curl around each other, falling into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

With her car packed up, Daryl watches as Rayne embraces her aunt. Nicole presses a kiss to her cheek before leaving the two friends alone. Dropping his thumb from his mouth, still a habit to this day, he braces himself as she launches herself in his arms. Inhaling the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla, he feels his arms wrap around her just a little more tighter than usual.

"Ya' best get yer ass back here as soon as possible, ya hear?" he murmurs, blinking back his own sorrow at having to watch her leave.

"I have something for you," she mumbles into his chest before pulling back. She flashes him a wink before digging around in her car, a small 'ha!' leaving her before she slips back out. "Here. I meant to give it to you for Christmas, but with this shit that went down between me and the ex-family, I didn't get a chance to."

He cocks an eyebrow at the leather vest, his fingers trailing over the angel wings along the back, "The hell?"

"Well, neither of us are religious, but angels are said to be soldiers of God and protectors of Man. You...you've protected me since the day we met," she shrugs, smiling slightly, "Besides. Figured you need to make yourself look bad ass."

Shaking his head, he wraps his arms around her once more, dropping a kiss to her forehead, "Imma miss ya', Sugar."

"Back at you, Daryl."

Watching her climb into her car and start down the road, he looks down at the vest in his hands. Yeah. He's going to miss her for sure. Memories of last night flood his mind and he smiles. For once, in his fucked up life, he managed to get something all his own. Rayne Michaels was his and nothing would take her from him.

Not even the end of the world as they knew it.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Alright, so the next chapter will be take place in the beginning of the series and will change view points between Daryl and Rayne. Leave reviews and let me know what you think. I know the show depicts Daryl as a virgin before the apocalypse, but hey, creative license here! First attempt at smut writing, so feedback would be awesome.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**_Accidental Meetings_

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

The curse leaves the lips of Rayne, her silver hoop having been ripped out a few days prior, her hand pressing against the side of her head. She ignores the metallic clatter of the aluminum bat hitting the floor as she tries to shake away the black spots invading her vision. Frantic apologies meet her ears, bringing her attention the the young Asian kid standing only a few feet away, his dark brown eyes widen with horror.

"Oh God, I...I thought you were a Walker," he stutters, shifting his weight from one side to the other.

Releasing her grip in her still-sheathed knife, she shakes her head carefully, wiping at the blood trickling down the side of her face, "Open your fucking eyes next time, damn," she groans, already feeling her temple begin to throb. Seeing the guilty expression, she cracks a smirk in his direction, "Chill, man. I've been hit a lot harder with things worse than a baseball bat."

The Asian kid relaxes, although from the look in his eyes, her words do little to comfort him, "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Rayne snorts, waving her hand in the air dismissively, "Tried to break out of the city when the military showed up. When they started shooting up civilians, I hid and waited it out."

The Asian shakes his head, amused by her nonchalant recount of the situation, "Anyone ever tell you, you are the strangest guy they've ever met?"

Absentmindedly running her hand through her short, choppy black hair, she grins, "Boy, you don't know half of it."

"I'm Glenn," he introduces, extending his hand.

Slapping her hand against his palm, chuckling at the startled gleam in his eyes, "Friends all call me Ray. So, what about you? What are you doing running around the Walker-infested city by yourself?"

"I'm a member of a refugee camp hiding out in the quarry not to far from the city," she nods, knowing the general area, her gaze following as he shifts the weight of his large bag in an awkward manner, "You can come back if you want. I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Feeling the aches and pains of her injuries, all except her head having been relatively old wounds, she nods gingerly, "Alright. Here, give me the bag, and you grab that bat of yours. You lead the way."

Glenn nods reluctantly as she slips the heavy bag over her shoulders. Moving through the city, silent and keeping to the alleyways, Rayne follows Glenn as he moves in a constant zigzag manner. The kid's smart, she'll give him that. She taps his shoulder, gaining his attention before she points to her car.

"Has more than half a tank and has extra supplies. I was gathering more, getting ready to move out when some bat-wielding Asian decided to cave my skull in," she teases, causing a guilty blush to stretch across his cheeks, earning a smack along the back, "Just fucking with you. Come on. Not sure how much longer I can stand. My head isn't the only injury I've got."

Easily unlocking the door, she tosses him the keys, indicating that he drives. Tossing his sack into the packed-up back seat, she slips into the passenger seat, groaning as she rubs at her knee gingerly. Fishing out a cigarette, she cracks the window the slightest bit before leaning back, watching the scenery pass them by.

"What happened to your cheek?" Hearing the question, she cocks a pierced eyebrow in his direction, seeing him jab his thumb along his cheekbone.

Snorting at the memory, she inhales a long drag from a cigarette, "Tenth grade, some asshole Jock with a class ring got in a lucky punch. Swear, some guys don't know how to hold their own. It's alright, though. Ended up making friends with the town troublemaker," her sarcasm seems to earn a small chuckle from the Asian, "I end up in more trouble than I want. There's a reason why I have at least three months of medical supplies in the back. Hey, do you mind grabbing the shades from the visor?"

She thanks Glenn as he tosses her the pair of classic, reflective-lens Aviators. Thankful to remove the sun's glare from her eyes, she leans her head back, taking another drag from her cigarette. She ignores Glenn's various twitches as a silence falls over them. A sense of quiet she hasn't heard in a long time. Her thoughts darken as she fingers her short, choppy hair once again. She misses her long hair and various, vibrant unnatural colors. Can't really go around dying your hair during the apocalypse. Well, she could, but these refugees Glenn mentioned might find it pointless. Not that she cares. Maybe she should streak her hair again. She has plenty of dyes in one of the bags in her car.

"So, where'd you get your other injuries from?" She glances over in Glenn's direction, her eyebrow cocking over the rim of her shades, "You mentioned having more injuries. Anything we should worry about."

We? Huh? Odd. She doesn't even know this kid and he wants to be all chummy. Shaking her head, she turns her gaze back out the window, "Nothing a few bandages, disinfectant and a smoke can't heal." Glenn lets out a small laugh, "Hey, I'm being serious." Her comment makes the Asian kid laugh more. "What the fuck is so funny?"

"Sorry, it's just...I haven't had a good laugh in awhile," She nods sympathetically, "You're kind of refreshing."

"Yeah. That's me. Ray the Wise-Cracking Freakshow," she grunts out, earning another snicker, her fist connecting with his shoulder lightly, "Hey. Keep it up, and we'll be eating Chinese for dinner."

"I'm Korean."

Rayne snorts, "The difference being? You all look alike."

"Could say the same about you."

Dropping her chin, her shades slipping down to reveal her gaze to him, "Boy. Don't go around throwing insults. Shit, _I've_ never met another like me. Pretty sure you haven't either."

Glenn chuckles as he parks the car, Rayne pushing her shades up to rest on the bridge of her nose, as she follows him out of the car, "I suppose you're right about that."

"You hit the jackpot!" a young blonde calls out, causing Glenn to rub the back of his head, "Hey! Who's this?"

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her thin, leather jacket, Rayne fights the urge to disappear as she becomes the center of attention. Nothing new for her. She's used to a lot of attention, just not the kind this blonde girl is giving her. She listens as Glenn tells of his trip, how they met up (leaving out the part of hitting her with a baseball bat) and that most of the supplies in the car are her own. Rolling her eyes behind the safety of her shades, she reaches in for a first aid kit and her smokes before sitting in the car, the door open as people walk by to unpack the supplies.

"Oi, Glenn," she calls out, keeping her voice low for effort, as she watches him pull a black messenger bag from the back, various patches sporting band logos pinned to the fabric, "That stays with me."

Glenn nods, dropping it back into the seat behind her before she pops the first aid kit open. Ignoring the people passing, she slides off her leather jacket, her long-sleeved thermal shirt sporting rips and tears, thankful that the leather vest thrown over it keeps her petite curve unnoticeable. Cleaning the cuts along her upper arm, she begins to hum to herself, her inner monologue playing a familiar tune. Finishing up her arms, she flips down the sun visor, using the mirror to clean the long cut along her neck. Stupid move of hers, but it could have ended worse than a simple cut. Knowing there's no way to cover the cut running the length from under her right earlobe to the hollowed, dip at the base of her throat, she muses over having to keep it clean. Snapping the first aid kit shut, she stands up, shutting the car door behind her. Rubbing her tender cheek, she leans against the car, heaving out a soft sigh.

She never expects two hands to grip the front of her vest, slamming her sore back against the car, her feet lifting off the ground. Choking as one hand presses against the center of her chest, just under her throat, fingers threatening to curl around it. Blinking back the reflexive tears of pain, she stares at the furious dark blue eyes from behind her shades.

"Where the fuck did ya' get this?"

Peering down at the familiar torn Pantera shirt gripped in one of his hands, she struggles to catch her breath and talk at the same time.

"Daryl! Let him go!" Glenn calls out, his body twitching as if to jump to her defense, but being to afraid to face the angry redneck.

"Not until he tells me where he fuckin' got this. It ain't his." Daryl's angry voice washes over her.

She's seen him angry before, but never at her. She tries to grab at the fingers moving up to her throat, calloused digits tightening around her air passage. Her feet kick out, her boots slamming against his shins as she scrambles, trying to get air.

"Dude, Daryl, let go of Ray," The fingers tighten out of shock, her blurry eyes watching as the shock filters into his eyes, "He didn't do anything."

Feeling her feet hit the ground, she blinks as bright sunlight hits her eyes as her shades are pulled from her face. Looking up into her friend's dark blue eyes, she feels her heart clench as guilt flashes through his eyes. Heaving for air, she doesn't get a chance to stop him as he stalks off, his hands clenching and unclenching as he moves. Shaking her head, she pushes away from the car, clapping Glenn on the back.

"You're a good kid, Glenn," she murmurs.

A husky laugh breaks through the audience and she turns her gaze on the familiar face of the oldest Dixon brother, "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

A blonde woman a few years older than herself scoffs, her eyes flickering with disgust, "Leave the kid along, Merle."

Merle raises his hands in an innocent, defensive manner, "Hey. I just wantin' to give the kid a warm greetin'," Merle nods in her direction, blue eyes amused, "Ya' sure look like shit, kid."

"No worse than yourself," she retorts, their banter age old and easy.

Merle lets out a loud, booming cackle, shaking his head before he saunters off, but not before giving her a pointed look in the direction of a specific tent. Nodding her head in the slightest fashion, she smiles inwardly before Glenn introduces her to the group. She ignores the hand offered by Shane, never having been a fan of the cops before. She gives a small grin and wave to Carl, ignoring how Lori immediately places an arm around his shoulders. She isn't sure about the others just yet. Glancing over in the direction of the tent Merle indicated, she runs her tongue along the spot that had once been occupied by a silver ring.

She found him, at last.

* * *

Daryl stares at the blood on his hands. He knows he shouldn't have jumped an injured 'kid', but the endless possibilities that flowed through his mind when he found that shirt didn't help at all. Clenching his hands tightly, he shudders at the thought of hurting her more than she was. He finally found her. The reason him and Merle were even heading to Atlanta in the first place. He remembers the two meeting. Merle running off at the mouth as they sat down to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. Her fist slamming into Merle's cheek. Merle appearing shocked before his head falls back and he belts out a laugh Daryl had never heard before. Merle liked her, as much as he could like anyone. He respected any person that didn't take shit from others.

Hearing the zipper of his tent being drawn apart, he glances up to see the young woman that haunted his thoughts slip into his tent. She kneels before him, her bright gaze searching his for a brief moment. He tenses out of habit as her arms wrap around him, her face buried into the crook of his neck. Honeysuckle and vanilla fills his senses and it seems to kick his instincts in place, his arms snapping up to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Feather soft kisses along his neck and jawline causes the tension in his body to melt before he pulls back, looking down at the only person that was his, and his alone.

"I've missed ya', Sugar," he murmurs, his forehead resting against her own. "Ain't been right without ya' the last two years."

He remembers his anger and frustration when she announced she would be staying in Atlanta to finish up her semesters and save up money. It was probably the only argument they had and the guilt that followed when they stopped talking. His stubborn mind not letting him give into wanting to hear her voice over the phone. She probably thought he was mad at her. Feeling her pull out of the embrace, his lips part but he remains silent when she motions for him to wait. Swallowing as she unbuttons her leather vest, her nimble fingers clutching at the neckline of her thermal undershirt. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat as she pulls the neckline down, his gaze tracing over the black ink marking the delicate skin over the top of her left breast. **_DD_**_. _ Simplistic and well-hidden. He lets out a small groan as his fingers trace over his initials.

"I was at a show for some local band. Got pretty fucking hammered. Woke up with it," he blinks at her admission, "Don't remember getting it, but it's the last thing I'd ever regret getting."

Unsure of what to say, his hand slides up her chest, along the back of her neck, his fingers delving into the short, choppy black hair along the back of her head. Pulling her mouth to his own, he moans at the familiar taste. Her very essence pours warmth into his chest, his other arm wrapping around her back, pulling her flush against his. Hearing the slightest hiss against his lips, he pulls back and stares into her apologetic gaze.

"I'm a bit tender. It's been rough the past few weeks."

Without a word, he lays her down on his cot, his arms pulling her into him as he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Inhaling her scent, he closes his eyes. She was here. She was real. Spying the familiar scar along her cheekbone, his age-old mantra flows through his head. She was here. She was real. She was his.

As the subtle chirps of early morning birds breaks him out of his slumber, he snaps awake at the warmth that surrounds him. Looking down at the bruised face of Rayne Michaels, he allows himself to relax, remembering that she was here with him. Slipping out of her grasp, he exits the tent and grumbles as he digs around into a familiar messenger bag.

"Hey. Those are Ray's!" Glenn's voice calls out.

Daryl turns to face the Asian, choking down his pride, he nods curtly to the kid, "I owe ya' one, China-man."

Glenn's gaze flickers with confusion before Daryl motions to the movement inside his tent. Daryl snorts as he watches Rayne stumble out of the tent, her thermal replaced with one of his wife-beaters, not even a care as her dark-colored bra is visible through it. Glancing over at Glenn, he watches the Asian's face heat up, remembering that the kid had referred to Ray as 'him'.

"Hey! Who said you can just go through my shit?" Rayne teases, shoving his shoulder as she snags her bag from him. "Morning, Glenn."

"Y-y-y..." Daryl nibbles on his thumb, smothering the amused, pointed look Rayne gives Glenn as he stutters, "You're a...she?"

"Boy you're quick on the uptake," her sarcasm leaving her lips with ease as she nudges Glenn, "If it makes you feel better, I didn't tell you, you didn't know the half of how weird I am."

Glenn shakes his head, Daryl growing curious as guilt fixates on his features, "But...I..." he motions to the bruising on the side of her face.

As if sensing his sudden tension, Rayne's hand claps on Daryl's shoulder as she laughs at Glenn's expense, "Hey, if our positions were reversed and I wasn't alright hurting, I would've stabbed you clean through. Are all you Asian's quick, or is that just racial profiling?"

Daryl can't stop the chuckle from leaving his lips as Rayne manages to fish out two packs of smokes from her bag, handing one of them to him. Damn. What would he do without his girl?

* * *

**Well, Daryl and Rayne reunite! I hope you guys can understand Daryl's reaction to the shirt. Last time he saw Rayne she had a lip ring, long silver-streaked curly hair and didn't have an eyebrow ring.**

**Demi187:** Thank you for your review! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. I am trying to make Rayne's character believable. She's the type of person that laughs during a crisis, and the world ending around her would count as one. She's kind of going to act as comic relief, keeping people's thoughts light and off of what is going on. I figured it would be a contrast against Daryl's serious, survival-of-the-fittest outlook. Thanks again. You're reviews were awesome to read. I love hearing what people think of my writing.

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**lexigurl0989**

**kelizabeth13**

**astainintime**

**angelsxlivexforever**

**Leish Dixon**

**Demi187**

**CapricornML1792**

**AbbieAwesome**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**_Down Time_

* * *

Daryl watches from his perch under a nearby tree, his gaze tracing over the side of Rayne's face. He always admired her undeterred focus as she became lost in her art. He watches as her gaze lifts up to see Andrea and Amy chatting away before her gaze drops again, her nimble fingers dragging the tip of her pencil along the page in her sketchpad. The teeth along the top of her mouth nibbles at her bottom lip, tugging at the spot that used to sport her silver hoop. She looked so different, yet she still seemed the same person he met all those years ago. Her focus doesn't break as Shane approaches her, Daryl feeling a smirk tug at his lips, causing his thumbnail to greet his mouth as he tries to smother the amusement at the inevitable confrontation.

"Miss Rayne, yes?" he hears Shane greet.

His friend's beautiful gaze doesn't even break in concentration as she responds with a curt, "What?"

"I was hoping to take the time to get to know you better," Shane suggests, taking a seat on one of the logs surrounding the unlit firepit.

Daryl chokes back his laughter at her blatant snort, "Guarantee you won't know me any better than most people. Kind of takes years to get past the mess inside my head."

"Mind if I ask you some questions?"

"Depends," she finally brings her gaze to the ex-cop, her green-grey eyes sparkling with a familiar, sardonic gleam, "Do I retain my constitutional rights to plead the fifth?"

Shane's pleasant smile fades from his face, Daryl realizing he isn't the only one snickering at her response, "Does it look like the constitution hold meaning anymore?"

A cynical smirk tugs at her lips as she taps her chin in a mocking thoughtful manner, "Oh, well, I guess that stripes any law enforcement the right to protect and serve, which means you have no authority to question me." She seems to enjoy watching Shane's face grow red with embarrassment, or anger, "So, instead of playing good cop, why don't you tell me the real reason you are bothering me while I am sketching out a new piece?"

"I want to know more about you," he states simply, eyebrows narrowed, "We know nothing about you, other than what Glenn tells us, and you are familiar with the Dixon's, who aren't known for being anything other than the dumb hicks they are."

Daryl winces. Not at his words. He winces because he can see the tension snap along her body, her hands slapping her sketchpad shut as she stands to her feet. Always confrontational. Usually, he'd have no problem stepping in, but his morbid sense of mind wondered how Shane handled the spitfire.

"My name is Rayne Michaels. I'm twenty-five years old and just graduated from the Art Academy of Atlanta with degrees in both Sketch Animation and Photography. I also don't particularly like when arrogant, judgmental men appoint themselves in a place of leadership over a group, trying to make life around here turn into a dictatorship," Shane's eyes darken, his body growing tense and Daryl takes a step forward as Rayne jabs a finger in the ex-cop's chest, "Let's get one thing clear, _officer_," she sneers, ignoring the silent audience, "I am not mindless, nor am I some peon that will bark when you command. I've taken guys twice your size for less, so next time, keep your opinion about my friends and family to yourself before my fist learns you your place."

Turning on heel, Daryl sends Shane a glare as Rayne's shoulder brushes against his own as she stomps off to cool down. Seeing the flushed cheeks, Daryl doesn't bother to hide the smirk as he turns and follows after his friend. Easily tracking her through the wooded area, he locates her leaning against a tree, her forehead pressed against the trunk. He can see her shoulders rise and fall as she tries to calm her anger down. It was definitely something they share. Their burst of furious anger. Catching her gaze, she flashes him a small smile and he nods, indicating that he was going to go hunt. As usual, no words are needed as she nods, letting him leave without protest. Inhaling deeply, she heads back to camp, hoping to learn more about the camp.

* * *

"Wow, you're really good, Miss."

Rayne pulls away from her sketch of Andrea and Amy, shading in areas of their features. She only wished her and her brother had ever been that close. No. Her brother had been the perfect puppet for her parents. Meeting the gaze of the kid, Carl, she offers him a small smile as he looks over the sketch.

"Do you have anymore?"

She shakes her head, "This is a fresh sketchpad, kid. I have another one that's full, but I'm keeping it packed up for now." He seems disappointed, causing her to nibble on the inside of her cheek, "Hey, why don't you sit down, tell me about yourself? You play any sports?"

"My dad and I used to play toss a football or baseball around all the time," Seeing the somber, but proud gleam in his eyes, Rayne insists he tells her more about his old man.

As the kid's features brighten with excitement, his hands moving to animate his words, she easily flips to a new page and begins sketching out his soft, round features. Sweet kid. Cares a lot about his dad. Hoping to capture the bright expression on his face, she continues to question him, bobbing her head every now and then. She ignores any stares she gets as she teases and jokes around with the kid. She didn't mind kids. They were honest. Didn't have it in them to lie, and their judgments come straight from how their parents react around people. Although, she knows he didn't seem that put off. His mother didn't seem to approve of her heavy boots, denim and leather mixed with the tattoos, scars and piercings. She's seen that same look a million and one times.

"What about you? What's your family like?" Carl asks.

"My Aunt Nicole died in a car accident two years ago. The only family I have is Daryl," she admits, not ashamed, even as his eyes widen slightly, "What's wrong, kid?"

Carl leans forward, whispering, "It's just...the Dixon brothers are scary."

Rayne lets out a snorting laugh, her head falling back, "Nah. Well, Merle could scare his own reflection, but they're not so bad," Rayne muses as she begins shading in some of his features, "Everyone's different, kid. If everyone in the world was the same person, this world would have gone to shit a long time ago. See, everyone has a reason for appearing the way they do. I've known Daryl a lot longer than Merle and I know the youngest Dixon is a fighter, a survivor. Throw him in an apocalypse and he'll think it's a party," she earns a small laugh from the boy.

Turning the drawing around, she watches his eyes widen, "Hope you don't mind me putting you down in my sketchpad. Kids like you are far more expressive than us old people."

"No way you're old. It's not like your thirty or something," he remarks, earning a hearty laugh from the ebony-haired woman.

"Truer words have never been said!" she cheers, ruffling the kid's hair, "Now, go get back to your mother before she panics."

Watching as he dashes off with a soft blush on his cheeks, she smiles. Yeah. She doesn't mind kids at all.

* * *

Daryl walks back into camp, almost dropping the string of squirrels as he watches his highly uncoordinated friend race around the camp, a football in her arms as every single one of the kids tries to get her. Her laughter rings through the air as she weaves around Carl, only for Sophia to trip her up. Wincing at the sight of her body slamming against the ground, he chuckles softly as all the kids leap on top of her. Her calls of 'cheat' and 'sore losers' pierced through the air, but the kids didn't stop as they try to wrestle the ball from her grasp. As Carl smacks it loose, Sophia picking up the rolling football, Rayne lets out a cry of dismay as the kids shout for Sophia to run.

"Ain't that a sight," Looking at his brother from the corner of his eye, Daryl nods carefully, "Haven't seen yer girl laugh like that in a long time, brotha."

Turning his gaze back on Rayne and the kids, his friend managing to catch Sophia, hoisting her over her shoulder in a fireman carry, "Hahaha, suckers!"

How is it possible for someone to be so understanding then turn around and appear to have the maturity level of a child? Shaking his head, he catches her gaze as she twirls around once more with Sophia over her shoulder, the little girl giggling with a glee that seems to bring a soft smile to her mother's lips. She drops the little girl to her feet, and calls for a huddle.

"Alright, gang. I'm going to help Daryl get dinner ready. Why don't you guys go to your parents and see if you can't get cleaned for dinner?"

The kids groan, but each break out of the huddle and head to their parents. Sitting down, Daryl begins to remove the squirrels from the string as Rayne plops down on the dirty ground next to him. Silently, they begin to work, Rayne skinning the little critters while Daryl removed their innards. Rayne begins humming a familiar tune that causes Daryl to smile softly at the sounds.

_Sammy was low_  
_Just watching the show_  
_Over and over again_  
_Knew it was time_  
_He'd made up his mind_  
_To leave his dead life behind_  
_His boss said to him_  
_"Boy you'd better begin_  
_To get those crazy notions right out of your head_  
_Sammy who do you think that you are?_  
_You should've been sweeping up the Emerald Bar"_

His mind wanders, his hands moving out of well-practiced ease as he guts the squirrel. She doesn't have the voice of a diva, or a pop princess. Her voice was as husky as it always was, low soft tune ringing from her lips. It was a voice that many overlook, but a voice that captures his attention whenever he hears it. She doesn't sing often, hates being the center of attention, but he's known her long enough to know a life without music is no life in her eyes.

_Spread your wings and fly away_  
_Fly away, far away_  
_Spread your little wings and fly away_  
_Fly away, far away_  
_Pull yourself together_  
_'Cos you know you should do better_  
_That's because you're a free man_

She continues to sing as she works away the fur and skin off of the squirrel, her eyes bright as always, but distant and thoughtful.

* * *

She's sketching again. This time, she sketches Lori and Carl sitting by the dimly lit fire as the light grows distant as the sun dips beneath the horizon. She has already sketched out Carol and Sophia, Dale and Jim, Merle sitting at the Dixon tent with a look of disinterest on his face, Daryl on watch with a lit cigarette pressed between his lips. Finishing her sketch of the family duo, she snaps her sketchpad shut and takes it back to the Dixon tent, placing it with her stuff. Locating Daryl on top of the RV, she climbs up the ladder and plops down on top, her legs dangling over the edge.

"Quiet night?" she questions as she lights up a cigarette, earning a nod from her friend.

She didn't like the quiet. Quiet meant something was coming. The calm before the storm. Her discomfort, unapparent to the refugees, did not escape her friend she realizes when a familiar arm wraps around her from behind, thumb tracing over her hip.

"We'll be alright, Sugar," he murmurs against her ear as he leans in close, not wanting to attract the attention of the others, "Just got ya' back. Ain't no way in Hell Imma let ya' go."

Chuckling at the stubborn mind of her best friend, she nods, "Back at you, Daryl."

"Go get some sleep. I got watch t'night."

Not bothering to climb down the ladder, she drops down from the roof, Daryl snickering as she stumbles a bit. His snickers break into soft chuckles as she removes the cigarette from her lips and with the same hand, flips him the middle finger. She flicks her cigarette into the fire pit, giving a curt good-night to the group. Slipping into comfortable clothes, she slides into Daryl's cot, the scent of dirt, sweat, forest and blood filling her nose. Most would find it repulsive, but the hidden musk beneath the smells gives her a small comfort.

* * *

**Author's Note: I wanted to give you, the readers, an understanding of Rayne's personality. She's not comfortable around people her own age, is the rare type of outcast that actually likes kids. She acts as a catalyst, or a reason, for the kids not to focus on the chaos around them. Her sketches are important in future uses. Leave reviews! Also song used in the chapter is 'Spread Your Wings' by Queen.**

**Demi187:** Thanks! I know it seems like everything is going to be perfect between the two, but remember, both are stubborn in their morals. I see a future Glenn/Rayne friendship, almost sibling relationship, forming once he gets pass Rayne's constant teasing.

**Leyshla Gisel:** Thank you so much for your review! I know a lot of stories seem to go about the same way, but I promise, with the way I have it going, there will be twists, nothing too awful, I promise, I love the show so much, that I'm not going to take away from it. I hope it doesn't discourage you from reading. Thanks again for giving my story a shot!

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus **  
**CapricornML1792**  
**Demi187 **  
**Leish Dixon **  
**Leyshla Gisel **  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Six  
**_Rooftop Promises_

* * *

Rayne nibbles on her bottom lip as she watches the door, waiting for Glenn to show back up. She didn't like waiting. From the corner of her eye, she watches as Andrea paces, a gun in her grasp. Morales and T-Dog both are dressed in protective gear to head off Glenn and the dumb ass that got himself trapped in a tank. Jacqui's brown eyes meet her own for a brief moment, before the dark-skinned woman looks away. Hearing Glenn call out that they are in the alley, T-Dog and Morales leave through the door, Rayne shifting from one foot to the other before relief fills her as Glenn races into the building, a man dressed in a sheriff's uniform following close behind. Rayne ignores Andrea's 'shoot first ask questions later' attitude, her tolerance for the blonde only present due to Rayne having bonded with her little sister, Amy. As Morales gets Andrea to calm down and drop her weapon, Rayne rolls her eyes, scoffing at the ignorance of the blonde.

She remains silent as the group begins to question what this guy was doing out there in the first place. Snorting at him trying to flag down a helicopter, Rayne continues to play the observant one. In the midst of T-Dog trying to get a signal through the camp, Rayne lets out an exasperating sigh when a gunshot sounds above their heads. Not bothering to pay Andrea any mind as she mouths off about Merle being a dumb shit, she heads up to the roof, shaking her head at the sight of Merle Dixon shooting off rounds down to the Walkers below. Rayne remains silent as Merle begins talking shit to T-Dog, watching the stupid fight break out. She knows she should probably stop Merle, but she merely watches as the Sheriff cuffs him to the metal cooling system along the roof.

"What the hell, Ray?" Andrea's anger now turned on her causes the silent group member to cock an eyebrow, "Can't you control your little friend?"

"First of all," Rayne pops a single digit up to act as emphasis before pointing at Andrea, "You can go fuck yourself. Second, Merle Dixon isn't little by any standards and he sure as hell not a friend. I tolerate him. Third, I don't think anyone can control a Dixon. You'd be dumber than I previous believed if you thought that."

Returning to her silence, she watches with a smirk as Andrea stalks off. Like she said, she's not exactly going to go around kissing someone else's ass because they think they're tough shit. Catching a shadow approaching, she allows a genuine smile to tug at her lips as Glenn returns a sheepish one.

"I guess it's not considered racial profiling after all," she teases, shoving his shoulder, "Asians are quick."

Glenn shakes his head just as the Sheriff pauses at the two of them, his gaze soft and friendly, "Oh, this is Rick, guy from the tank. Rick, this is Rayne. Can't quite remember why she came in the first place."

Rayne nods her head in Merle's direction, seeing a look of disbelief flicker in Rick's eyes, and she shrugs, "Hey. You can really pick family. Maybe not blood, but it's all I've got."

Rick seems to understand, nodding his head, "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rayne. Glenn mentioned you are the entertainment for the refugee camp."

Turning a hurt look in Glenn's direction, Rayne fights back her laughter, "Really? Entertainment? I don't see how getting beat on by kids half my size is entertainment."

Rick and Glenn both share a laugh before they decide to get down to business. Opting to stay on the roof with T-Dog and Merle, she returns to her pensive attitude.

* * *

"Ray! Girl, come on!" T-Dog insists, tugging at her arm.

Snagging her arm out of his, Rayne adjusts the leather cuff bracelet around her wrists, "Just get back. I can't leave him behind."

"You really think it would be smart of us to walk into camp without Merle _and_ you?" T-Dog questions, "He's going to kill us."

"Come on, Theo," she watches an embarrassed look appear on his face at the use of his given name, "I'm going to stay with Merle. He won't have a chance at survival if he stays up here by himself. Just get out while you can and get back to the camp to regroup. You have to promise you won't just let this end like this."

T-Dog flashes a quick grin at her, "Nah. I kinda like you."

"As long as you come back. Now go, before they leave without you. Try to lock up the door."

She watches as he races off of the roof, her gaze turning toward Merle as she slides down, sitting opposite of him. She can't explain why she stayed behind. She knows, deep down, Merle would have done the same. She may only tolerate him, and same goes for him, but they both cared for the youngest Dixon sibling. She may not agree with how Merle raised her best friend, but you can't pick your family.

"You're crazy."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"It's hot up here," he throws back, cracking a tired grin at her. "Mind going to fetch me some water."

Rolling her eyes, she stands up, brushing off her jeans before going down a different set of stairs.

* * *

"Are you really that fucking stupid?" she hisses, watching in disgust as he cauterized the stub of what had once been his right hand.

Merle simply lets out a pained laugh before he motions for her to follow. Removing her knife from its sheath, she follows him down the maze of building that made up the broken city of Atlanta. She ignores his heaving breaths as she runs at a quick, easy pace, her eyes looking for any trouble. Turning around one corner, she spots two Walkers dragging their feet along the length of a gate, a white van parked on the other side. Reacting quickly, she jabs her knife through the back of one of their heads, yanking it out, only to spin around and slam the blade into the decayed skull of the second Walker.

Hearing the dragging feet of approaching Walkers, she turns to Merle, "Go. Get in the van and get out. I know a place where I can hide out, rest and regroup before I head back to camp."

"I ain't goin' back to camp, kid," Merle states, and she stands straighter as he turns his gaze on her, "Do me a favor, kid. Keep an eye on Daryl fer me. Kid cares more about yerself than anyone else. Hell, he'd slit my throat before he'd let somethin' happen to ya'."

Giving him a soft smile, she nods her head, "You don't even have to ask."

Not bothering with goodbyes, she begins her zigzag-patterned sprint through Atlanta. As heavy as her heart is, knowing Daryl will have a hard time with Merle's abandonment, she focuses on getting to her destination. Seeing the familiar brick building, windows boarded up and doors barred shut, she pounds on the door.

"_Hola! Soy yo, Rayne! Necesito refugio!_"

It doesn't take long for her to gaze upon familiar, soft brown eyes of Guillermo. She always did end up making friends with the 'wrong' kind of people. Knowing she is in safe hands, she allows herself to collapse to her knees, her knife clattering to the floor at her side. Heat exhaustion, hunger and thirst weighs heavily on her as she tries to blink away the spots peppering her vision.

"Come on, Ray. Let's get you inside, _chica_."

Feeling arms help her to her feet, she doesn't realize where she is being led until she feels her head hitting a pillow. Closing her eyes, she lets her exhaustion win.

* * *

Darly Dixon is pissed. No. He is beyond pissed. He should have never let her go on the run. He knows she is familiar with Atlanta, but still. She should have never gone. He promised himself to keep her safe when she came back to him. He knows most think he's upset about Merle, and Hell, they can think that, but his stomach churns at the thought of losing her again. His body and his reactions are all on autopilot as he races through Atlanta, fighting Walkers and now a bunch of Hispanic thugs. He can hardly see straight, his anger blinding and running hot through his veins. Glenn getting kidnapped doesn't help at all, knowing that if Rayne were there, she'd be pissed if he didn't help look for the Asian kid.

As the old lady grabs Rick by the arm, telling them the 'nice Asian boy' is inside and safe, Daryl follows cautiously as they make their way through the nursing home. He stands behind Rick as they locate Glenn, the Asian boy explaining what's going on. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice Glenn approach him, the hesitant tap on his shoulder causing his body to tense, ready to fight.

"Come on. There something you need to see," Glenn states.

Not sure what so special about a fucking nursing home, Daryl follows Glenn into a recreational room. A familiar giggle fills the air, the hairs along the back of his neck standing up as it rings through him. Following the sound, his gaze falls on the ebony-haired woman sitting a round table, poker cards in her hand and a bottle of water in her other, three empty bottles lying on the ground at her feet.

"Yer gonna tell me, I've been bustin' my ass tryin' ta find ya, and yer sittin' 'round playin' card games?" Daryl snaps, his anger breaking through.

Her beautiful eyes immediately snap to him and he barely registers the speed she shoots up from the chair. His concern grows as she stumbles, walking on shaky legs, as she rushes to him, her arms embracing him tightly. He doesn't move, his anger to great, but his worry even greater.

"Yer not lookin' too good, Ray," he states, his sharp gaze looking over her.

"Limbs are tired. Been running around all day. Guillermo allowed me refuge so I can rest. Figured I'd hijack a new car and head back to camp."

Seeing her eyes grow somber and her lips parting, he places his finger against her lips, "Not right now. We're gettin' outta here. We'll talk later."

* * *

The chaos they come upon as the arrive at camp causes the group to jump into high gear. Shots ring out and Daryl manages to keep an eye out for Rayne as she stabs another Walker through the skull. He remembers giving her that knife so many years ago. It was a simple gift, or at least he thought so. He found it amusing the wise-cracking, smart-ass rebel had been forced to take fencing classes at her boarding school before moving to Georgia. Fencing. He snorts even now at the thought as he takes aim, sending another bullet through a Walker's brain.

He curses not getting a chance to talk with her about what happened back in Atlanta as he finds himself dutifully walking around, taking a pick-ax to every dead corpses's skull. He supposes he's going to have to talk to her during their drive, to where ever the hell they were going next. Finding Rayne trying to keep the kids occupied, their minds off of the dead, he muses. He had what he came for. Why was he sticking around?

* * *

**Author's Note: Yay, this is my last update for the night. I know they are coming quick, but the story is writing itself. I promise, promise that this is not going to be your typical Daryl/OFC story. It won't be smooth sailing. They will fight and bicker as friends do, but remember, nothing will change the fact that they are all they have.**

**Demi187:** Thanks again for catching the mistake. I hate when that happens. Yes, I wasn't too fond of Shane's character, but I promise, Rayne's reaction to him is her own, not based off of mine.

**Leyshla Gisel:** Thanks for reviewing! lol...Rayne isn't the type to take people's shit, it's built into her to fight authority. Yes, I agree, he's a dick. Thanks again!

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus **  
**CapricornML1792  
Callalily8**  
**Demi187 **  
**Leish Dixon **  
**Leyshla Gisel **  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
**_Long Drive to Nowhere_

* * *

Daryl grunts as he tosses in the last of the bags belonging to him and Rayne before he turns to the group heaving Jim into the RV. Finding Rayne standing away from the somber group, her bright gaze observant as always, he swallows back the hollow feeling as he realizes he had her back. He understands Rayne enough to know why she stayed behind with his douche bag brother, he just doesn't exactly agree with it. Not her. Anyone, but her. Her stance shifts, her hand moving up to adjust the strap of her messenger bag as she turns away from the group piling out of the RV. A look passes between the two friends, her soft smile giving him the smallest grain of hope before she hops into the passenger seat of his truck.

As the convoy drives out of the camp, Daryl bites back his sorrow at the thought of his missing brother, his gaze flickering back and forth from between the road and the silent woman sitting next to him. He can see the heavy doubt in her eyes and not liking the particular look in her gaze, he pulls his thumbnail away from his mouth. What does he say? He had never been very good at expressing himself through words.

"Ya' got any smokes in yer bag?"

He inwardly curses his stupidity, but the soft smile thrown his direction is worth it as he watches her dig through her bag, fishing out two cigarettes, "Here."

As the nicotine allows his nerves to calm down, he runs his thumb along his bottom lip before deciding to bite the bullet, "Ya doin' alright, Sugar?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" she retorts, chuckling humorlessly, "If it makes you feel any better, Merle was alive last time I saw him. You Dixon boys don't die easy, if I recall."

Daryl feels a smile tug at his lips, "I'm not askin' 'bout Merle. Ya' seem...upset."

Rayne nibbles on her bottom lip before taking a long drag from her cigarette, "I worry about what will happen if we are ever separated," Daryl tenses, not liking where the conversation seems to be headed, "Not because I worry about me, but I worry about how it will affect you. I need to know, need you to promise, that if we are ever separated, you won't lose hope."

"Don't be talkin' like that, Sugar. Yer not leavin' my sight," Daryl grumbles out.

He can feel the glare burn in the side of his head, "I'm not fragile. I may not be a Dixon, but everything I know about survival was taught to me by the best of the bunch," He bites the inside of his cheek, "I need to know you will be able to keep thriving, keep moving, if we get split up."

"We ain't even havin' this conversation," Daryl spits out, shooting a glare at his friend.

Rayne's eyes brighten with fury, "Don't sass me, Daryl Dixon. I can't promise that I will always be around, and you can't make that promise either. Just, unless you have proof that I am dead, keep moving on, knowing that I will find you."

His fingers curl around the steering wheel, "I said we ain't havin' this fuckin' conversation!"

As the convoy is forced to stop due to the RV breaking down again, Rayne lets out a hiss of anger before climbing out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. Watching her stalk off, the sway of her hips sharp in contrast to their usual gentle undulations, Daryl's fist connects with his steering wheel. Why can't she understand? She's not leaving his sight.

* * *

She was practically seething as she stalked her way over to group by the RV. She remains silent as Rick and Dale talk about rigging up the RV, watching as Jacqui comes out of the RV telling them the Jim is getting worse. She can feel his presence behind her, the familiar woodland scent surrounding her, and she tenses, her anger still thriving. She waits, as the rest of the group does, before Rick steps out of the RV. Hearing them argue over what to do with Jim, Rayne feels her anger snap.

"Dale has a point," she states, ignoring the glare from Shane and the tension running through the masculine body standing behind her, "Who are any of you to tell him what to do? It's his life, it should be his say. None of us have the right to decide for him."

"No one asked your opinion, Michaels," Shane argues.

Rayne glares, eyes burning bright, "All of you are being selfish."

Without another word, Rayne stalks off, returning to the truck. She may sound childish, but she never liked other people making another person's decision for them. Maybe it was because of her parents, pushing her constantly. Maybe it was because Daryl couldn't seem to face the facts. Either way, most of those people aren't even making the decision based off of what is best for Jim, but instead what makes them feel less obligated or guilty.

Pulling out her sketchpad, she watches as Shane and Rick lay Jim beneath a tree. With the image stuck in her mind, memorizing the man's features, she begins drawing out the scene before her. Sketching out his lean, lanky figure laying beneath the tree, she begins adding subtle, small details most people overlook. Glancing up, she feels a small smile tug at her lips as she watches Daryl slowly pass by the sick man, nodding his head in a respectful manner. Closing her sketchpad, having a basic outline finished, she leans her forehead against the window as Daryl climbs into the truck.

She tries not to take offense of Daryl's stubborn tendencies. She knows he only means well and he has always acted as her protector, even when she doesn't need one. She fears the day they are ripped from each other. She worries he won't survive the world by choice. She worries he'll give up living, thriving and the smallest amount of hope he carries with him.

"Yer a real piece o'work, ya know that?"

Glancing over at him, she is surprised when he tugs her across the length of the seat, hooking his arm over her shoulders. Sinking into the warmth, she smiles against his shoulder. He never could stay mad at her for long. She knows the conversation is far from over, but at least for now, he seems to accept the possibility. Closing her eyes, she feels herself drift into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

Walkers were everywhere. Chaos surrounds them. Rayne stabs her knife through the head of a Walker, ignoring the yells from Rick as he pounds against the entrance to the CDC building. A bolt whistles pass her ear, the wind break causing her hair to ruffle briefly, and she watches as it pierces another Walker not far from her, straight through the eye socket. She's never been anything less than impressed by his accuracy. The guy could probably hit a fly without damaging the wings. A bright light floods the area and she feels herself being dragged back, her knife-wielding arm still slicing and stabbing at the Walkers as she allows herself to be pulled inside the atrium of the building.

Tension fills the atrium as a gun cocking pulls the attention toward a man standing a few feet away. She listens as the man questions their intentions, Rick pleading for him to give them a chance. The idea of submitting blood to some unknown doctor tugs at her instincts. If there is one thing she hates, it's being stuck, without any way of escape. Following the Doctor's movements, she refuses to let her guard down.

"Alright, Sugar?"

Glancing over at Daryl, she nods briefly, her gaze flicking back to the Doctor as he leads them further inside, "I'm not a fan of this idea."

As she feels herself being nudged, she meets his gaze again, "Don't ya worry yerself. Sumtimes be thinkin' ya worry too much."

"One of us has to," she murmurs, earning a snort of self-deprecating agreement from her friend, "Just...don't leave me alone," Ignoring the surprise flashing on his face, she smiles softly, "I'm not comfortable here. I'm going to be on edge the whole time. I need...some form of comfort."

"I ain't gonna leave ya alone," he promises, eyes soft as he nods for them to follow after the group.

* * *

He doesn't like the hidden distrust in Rayne's eyes as she watches Doctor Jenner draw blood from her veins. He's never really seen that look before. Rayne is usually accepting of all types of people. Then again, he's seen the same gaze in her eyes when she watches Shane's movements. Most would question her judgment, Hell, with him a friend and all most definitely question her judgment, but he never does. He follows her slow movements, cautious and ready to fight if she needs to. He needs to get her to relax, but how?

* * *

**Author's Note: Short moment between Daryl and Rayne. I'm not going to type out the entire series, as those reading, should at least know the episode or where the setting is being taken place at. I'm trying to focus on Rayne and Daryl, kind of like a between the scenes situation. Remember, they're both anti-social by nature, so Rayne's interaction with campers is through silence, unless she's dealing with the kids.**

**astainintime:** Thanks for your review! I'm glad you are enjoying it so much. You have no idea how much I love reading reviews, helps me stay focused.

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus **  
**CapricornML1792  
Callalily8**  
**Demi187 **  
**Leish Dixon **  
**Leyshla Gisel  
RachelNicole523**  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Eight  
**_The Decisions that Define Us_

* * *

Rayne watches as the families gather around the table, consuming the food offered and the drink that are well enough to spare. Seeing Daryl drawing a long gulp from his own bottle, she rolls her eyes. Yes. More than enough to spare. As laughter fills the air, Daryl opting and vocalizing Glenn's need to get wasted, Rayne's gaze settles on Doctor Jenner. The look on his face makes her stomach churn. Deciding to head back to the office room she and Daryl are sharing, she lifts up her own bottle. Is this worth it? Is there a point? Bringing the bottle to her lips, she tilts her head back, eyes sliding shut as she manages two long gulps. The heat flooding her body pulls forth old memories. Warm memories. A soft smile forms along her lips, her fingertips brushing over the scar along her cheekbone.

She barely notices when a slightly inebriated Daryl slips into the room. Looking up, she feels her breath catch in her throat at the stare directed at her. His eyes, so dark and such an impossible shade of blue that it makes her heart beat just a little faster. Silently, he approaches her, his body moving like the predator he is and he kneels next to her sprawled-out form along the couch. He removes the bottle from her grasp and tugs her up to her feet, pulling her out of the room and down the hall. An uncharacteristic blush spreads across her cheeks as they enter the shower room, hearing the door shut behind them, the lock sliding in place. A shiver travels up her spine as muscular arms wrap around her, pressing her back against a familiar body, those same hands striping her of her leather vest and her thermal undershirt. Her eyes slide shut as her mind follows those hands as they slowly undress her, leaving her petite figure bare for him, and only him, to see.

As she is carefully led under the warm spray of the shower head, her head drops forward as her tense muscles begin to relax. Warm lips press feather soft kisses along her shoulder and up the side of her neck, rough, calloused hands slowly traveling up the length of her stomach. A gasp leaves her lips as a warm hand cups one of her breasts, the rough pad of his thumb flicking over the tightening buds of her breast. Her head drops back, resting on his broad shoulder, his lips tracing over her jawline.

"Ain't ever quite understand how, outta all the poor sons a bitches in the world, ya managed to become mine," his husky voice whispers in her ear, almost purring like the predator he is. "How sumone like yerself can stand ta be in my presence," His hand at her breast tightens it grip briefly, her back arching as his opposite hand slides its way down to the warmth between her thighs, "How ya seem so responsive to my touch," She gasps as he swipes a single digit along her slit, "As if yer body was meant ta be mine," She can't seem to slow her racing heartbeat as his words wash over her, her hips jerking as his finger manages to find the bundle of nerves hidden between her thighs, "and that's what yer always gonna be. Mine." A choked gasp breaks free as two fingers thrust into the heat of her passage, quick and desperate, "Mine ta hold. Mine ta protect. Mine ta fuck." She can't think, let alone speak as she feels her body responding to his rough, demanding, determined fingers and his seductive words, each word punctuated with a thrust of his fingers. "Want ta see ya fall apart, like all 'em years ago. Want ya to know exactly who ya belong to, just as much as ya own this sorry son of a bitch."

"D-Daryl," she manages to choke out as the tension rises within her core, her body growing tighter and hotter.

"Come on, Sugar. That's it," he purrs in her ear.

The combination of his strong presence, seductive words and powerful touch has her tumbling over the edge of her climax, her body shuddering within his embrace and knees buckling. She barely gets a moment of rest as she is turned, her back pressed against the wall of the shower, those powerful hands grabbing the back of her thighs, lifting her off her feet. His name escapes her in a long drawn out moan as his length slips inside, filling and stretching her in a way she's only felt one other time in her entire life. Her eyes slide shut as his lips leave nips and kisses along her throat and the top of her breasts, one of his arms wrapping around her back, pulling her weight into him. Her body jerks and bounces as each, powerful thrust slams into her harder than the previous one. Her fingers press against his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin as she feels herself quickly approaching another climax. His teeth bite into the flesh of her breast, taking the skin into his mouth as he suckles over the initials inked into her skin. Whatever thoughts that fill his mind seems to spur his movements to become faster and harder, her legs tightening around his waist as she feels herself fall apart around him for a second time, his last thrust sending his entire length buried within her heat.

As her breathing slows back down, she feels his arms tighten around her, his forehead resting against her chest. Slowly, she is placed back on her feet and as she parts her lips, wondering where the hell that came from, his hand buries into her hair, pulling her mouth to his own. Lost in the afterglow and post-coital make-out session, she feels him begin to wash away the dirt and grime from her hair and body. They both know she can wash herself, but something stops her from taking over, the gaze in his eyes not one he's ever shown before.

"I love you," she whispers, her words bouncing around the silent room.

His gaze lifts up to meet her own as he drops another kiss to her lips, "Love ya too, Sugar."

* * *

Daryl groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he fights the urge to stay wrapped in the warmth surrounding him. Looking down at the top of Rayne's head, a soft gleam flashes across his eyes as he watches her pull from the depths of her slumber. He always liked watching her. He remembers Merle calling him a stalker as the youngest Dixon sibling watched her every move as if she was his prey. He never really understood how she affected him, or how she seemed to effortlessly accept the matter of fact moments in his life. Not his abusive father, nor his crackhead brother drove her away. She never really asked about the situations either.

"Looks like a pretty deep thought you have there."

Snapping out of his thoughts, he blinks down at her, flashing her a smile, "Just be wonderin' how the Hell ya came ta be in my life. Sure as Hell ain't do anythin' to get someone like yerself."

Rayne's eyes soften, her hand cupping his cheek, "Daryl, you never give yourself enough credit. Don't you think I sometimes wonder how I managed to snag a man like you? Me? A sixteen-year-old rebel with a bad mouth and a temper that's even worse? Why did this handsome, backwards redneck step into the fight when all others walked on by? What did I do to deserve his protection, his devotion and his care? Don't think I haven't seen you around the other camp members. You're just now starting to warm up to Glenn, and you're only nice to him because he brought me into your camp. Same goes for Rick, who came back for not only me, but Merle as well. How is it I managed to gain your attention when all others get pushed away?"

He swallows needlessly. He's never heard her express so much. Not when it came to what they were. They never really defined it. He was Daryl and she was Rayne. They were everything and more. Seeing the own self-doubt on her face, Daryl shakes his head, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. Knowing that others are bound to wake up, he keeps their gentle make-out session to just that. A make-out session. Even as he deepens the kiss, groaning as he tastes her once again, he tries to pull all of her doubt away from her mind.

"Ya never hafta doubt what we are, Sugar," he states firmly.

She nods, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips, "Then you need to stop asking how I came into your life, when you've affected mine just as much." Stretching her arms over her head as she sits upright, she ruffles his hair, "I will go see if I can whip up a breakfast or something."

He shakes his head, getting dressed before following her hasty retreat. He doesn't bother hiding his amusement as Glenn leans over his plate, cursing alcohol and its ability to leave a nasty reminder. Rayne doesn't even pause in her steps as she slips by the Asian kid, her fingertips slapping against the back of his head lightly. Enough to make the Asian with a hangover wince, but lightly. He tries to ignore the way Lori glares at Rayne's mannerisms and flashes his girl a small smirk when she hands him a plate of eggs and bacon. Rayne has always tortured people when they earn themselves a hangover.

* * *

He has never felt true fear before. Not fear for himself. His fear for Rayne being forced to commit suicide drains through him in a fit of righteous anger, never once stopping in every attempt to get them out. Fuck everyone else. He's not leaving Rayne to die like this. He curses the others, the way they constantly keep him from splitting the doctor's head open. He should have known. Rayne has pretty potent instincts. Her fight and flight instincts built into her far before they ever met. He's always seen her fight and rarely has she ever tries to flee. Realizing she had never wanted to step foot in this building, he curses himself as he slams the ax against the door again.

Escaping through the broken window, thanks to Rick's grenade. Seriously. Who carries a grenade around in their pocket? Daryl tackles Rayne onto the seat of his truck as the blast sends a powerful shock through the area.

* * *

Rayne can't help the laugh that escapes her as Daryl revs his brother's motorcycle, speeding down through the cars littering the highway stretch. Daryl's infamous truck had finally kicked the bucket and they were forced to stash their things in the RV. She didn't mind it though. She loved the freedom expressed. Knowing that sounds tend to attract Walkers, Rayne remained alert even as she feels Daryl double back to the RV. Hearing Dale ask if they could find a way through, Daryl turns around again, leading the way through the overturned vehicles.

Hearing the tell-tale sign of the RV breaking down again, the gang splits up, trying to siphon gas and gather supplies for the road. Rayne flashes Daryl a small smile, shooting up to the tip of her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. Opting to keep an eye on the kids as the others collect supplies, Rayne runs a finger along the sheath of her knife, holstered against the outside of her thigh. Hearing a shout from Dale, Rayne immediately shifts into a protective stance, watching the group scatter to find shelter. Thankful for her small stature, Rayne slips underneath one of the vehicles, keeping her breathing calm. Glancing around, her heart stops as she sees Sophia scrambling from under a vehicle and fleeing into the woods. Throwing all other thought out the window, Rayne rolls out from under her own shelter, she takes off after the small girl. Hearing Walkers and what sounds like Rick following after, she speeds up her pace, managing to dip down, scooping the scared girl into her arms, all without stopping. Remembering everything she was taught, she grows determined to find shelter before night settles over them.

* * *

Daryl doesn't hesitate to slam his fist against the side of the RV, endless searching for two days and nothing. No prints. No trace. No sign of the little girl. No sign of _his_ girl. Choking back his inner despair, he refuses to give up and slowly his resolve grows stronger.

* * *

**Author's Note: Alright! Yes, most figured out _exactly_ how Daryl would get Rayne to relax. Now, this is where things kind of change up. While you can assume Daryl is going through his moments in season two, the following chapters are going to focus around Rayne and Sophia surviving on their own. Yes, I decided to keep Sophia alive. -shrugs- Creative license and all that. We will occasional pop back in on Daryl to show how he is holding up and the thoughts running through his head, skimming along the story line that we know, while writing out Rayne's own story.**

**Leyshla Gisel: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the little private moment between them.**

**Demi187: Yes, Rayne has the type of compassion that she's not willing to leave people behind. I actually found Merle's story from season one up until season 3 (yes, the most recent episode) and I actually like the story line he follows. Merle doesn't really change, just shows a different side to him, if you squint and tilt your head. And yes, I kind of get tired of reading the same plot line that every fan knows. Some people change it up and I like it, but for the most part, I'm trying to go with a little originality.**

**CreepyDaisy: First, LOVE your penname. Don't ask. I have an eye for weird. Yes and no, I do plan on having the gang follow their original story line, but at the same time, Rayne's story will veer off as she struggles to reunite with Daryl and get Sophia back to her mom. It's not going to be a walk in the park, for sure. There will be a reunion, but not what you'd expect.**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus **  
**CapricornML1792  
Callalily8  
CreepyDaisy**  
**Demi187 **  
**Leish Dixon **  
**Leyshla Gisel  
RachelNicole523**  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime  
gleeful-reader **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

**This is where Rayne's point of view takes over for the majority of what is supposed to be Season Two.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
**_Fear_

* * *

Rayne motions for the small blonde to remain silent, and only after the choked up girl nods her head does Rayne find herself climbing down the tree. Walkers weren't known for being intelligent. Knowing the best way to stay protected from any predator was to stay high off of the ground, where the wind can't catch their scents and blow it downwind. Landing on the ground, she glances around, noting that it was the fourth day they had been in the woods. She had decided to follow the small river, knowing that at some point, they would come upon some kind of town. Seeing the woods clear of any threat, she raises her arms, helping Sophia down.

"Where are we going, Miss Rayne?"

Smiling as the girl grabs her hand, Rayne drops her gaze quickly to the blonde girl before turning her attention back to their surroundings, "In the early years of American settlers, towns often popped up near some source of water. It made it easy to distribute trade items, arrogate crops and as fresh water sources. Figured if we stuck near water sources like that creek, we will eventually come across some kind of town."

Sophia is quiet for a brief moment, staring at the ground in a nervous manner, "I hope someday I grow up to be like you."

Rayne snorts, "Trust me, So-So. There are better people to model yourself after."

"Oh, but, you're smart, kind and you aren't afraid of anything," Sophia argues, her cheeks burning at the nickname the ebony-haired woman gives her.

"Of course I'm afraid of something," Rayne replies gently, giving the girl a soft smile.

"But you face Walkers like they're nothing."

Rayne chuckles humorlessly, "Alright, So-So. Let me tell you a little secret. I'm not afraid of Walkers because their infected with a disease. The disease makes them reanimate and feed off of the living. They can't help what they are, so there's nothing to be afraid of. If you ever come to a point where a Walker scares you, picture a person, any person, that makes you angry. Use that anger, channel it into surviving."

"What are you afraid of?" Sophia asks, curiosity brightening her blue eyes.

"People," Rayne states in a matter-of-fact tone, "See, Walkers aren't capable being anything other than what they appear. People, all people, have the capacity of being genuinely good and equally as bad. A lot of people are deceivers, poisons of society. They lie, give false thoughts, and when your comfortable, they strip you of your good nature. That's why you have to watch people," She glances down quickly, cracking a small smile, "Watch their actions, the way their hands move, their facial expressions and the way they stand. Lies are often revealed by a person's body language."

"So, that's why you watch people all the time?" Rayne nods in response to the question, "Is that why you are so comfortable around Mr. Daryl?" Rayne snorts at the idea of anyone referring to her best friend as 'Mister', "He's kinda scary."

Rayne chuckles, remembering Carl saying the same thing, and she nods as they break into another clearing, "Daryl's been a good friend of mine since I was sixteen. He has his fits of anger, but that is mostly a way of him defending himself. Some people grow up in a rough family and it taints them. Daryl's a good man when one takes the chance to try and understand him." Pushing through the edge of the woods, she gestures in front of her, "Look at that. See?"

Sophia lets out a small squeal at the sight of a small town not too far from them. Rayne makes the decision to stay in the woods for one more night, staying in the trees before they head into the town. She manages to catch only a few squirrel, thanks to Daryl taking her on hunting trips when she was in high school. Making sure to feed most of it to Sophia, Rayne helps Sophia up the tree and follows. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, Rayne gathers Sophia in her arms, making sure the blonde girl doesn't fall from their perch.

"Who do you think of?" Sophia asks, her voice a soft whisper. "When you fight Walkers, who do you think of?"

"My parents," Rayne bites out, glancing down as Sophia blinks up at her in confusion, "My parents weren't the best. They made growing up difficult. It might be wrong of me, but hey, they disowned me before I graduated high school. Said I wasn't proper enough for the family image."

"Sounds like bullshit."

Rayne snickers, bopping her on the head lightly, "No talking like that. Your mom would kill me."

Sophia giggles, closing her eyes.

* * *

"Go, So-So! Get out of here! Find somewhere to hide!" Rayne commands as she stumbles back from the wild punch.

Sophia's heart rams quickly in her chest as she watches these strange men struggle against the petite woman. Wanting to do what is best, Sophia turns on her heel and breaks into a dead sprint. The little blonde avoids Walkers, the small hunting dagger Rayne gave her clutched in her hand. Turning a corner, she fights down a shriek at the sight of a Walker stumbling his way toward her. Remembering Rayne's words, she swallows down the fear, the Walker before her transforming into the figure of her father. Letting out a small squeak, the small blonde slamming the blade up the length of his skull, cringing as its black blood poured over her hands. Removing the dagger from the Walker, Sophia doesn't bother hanging around as she breaks into another sprint.

She isn't sure how long she is running when she turns a corner, slamming into a broad chest, the shriek leaving her lips. Looking up, she relaxes at the sight of light blue eyes staring down at her. Remembering Rayne's words, she watches the man as he carefully pushes her back, helping her catch her balance. The man's face was pale, his black hair unkempt, but the broad, gentle smile stretched across his face causes her to relax.

"What are you doing, running around here by yourself?" the man asks, his voice soft and gentle.

"My friend is in a fight. Told me to run, but I...I'm worried. Ray's only one person and...there were a bunch of them."

The man's eyes darken briefly, "Walkers?" When Sophia shakes her head, he holds his hand out, "Show me the way."

Sophia grabs the man's hand and races back the way she came. Her legs burn and she can feel her body growing tired, but she knew Rayne would do the same for her. _Did_ the same for her. Coming to the street, Sophia feels the air leave her lungs as she witnesses a switchblade sinking into the lower side of Rayne's torso.

"Ray!"

The man with her dashes forward, his gun sending a single shot through the shoulder of one of the men. As the gunshot goes off, knowing it would signal Walkers, the group of men scramble to escape the area. Tears fill Sophia's eyes as the dark-haired woman drops to her knees, clutching at her stomach.

"Ray!" Sophia cries out, racing toward her idol, collapsing at her side, "No! Ray! Y-You can't..."

The man that followed Sophia drops down on Rayne's other side, his hand pressing against her wound, "Hey. Are you alright? You have to stay awake."

Rayne's eyes blink open, allowing Sophia to let out a sigh, but the man across from her releases a string of curses, "You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

A tired, surprised smile spreads across Rayne's lips, her hand reaching up to cup the man's cheek, "It's been a long time, Topher."

Sophia blinks in surprise as the man wordlessly gathers Rayne in his arms, grabbing her small hand in his, before tugging them away from the scene.

* * *

Blinking her eyes, Rayne lets out a soft moan as awareness surrounds her. As her gaze falls upon a ceiling, her thoughts immediately travel to Sophia, causing her to shoot upright. A strangled cry of pain leaves her lips before the door to the room slams open, heavy footsteps rushing into the room. Meeting familiar blue eyes, Rayne feels her own eyes widen.

"Jesus fuck, Rayne!"

The soft, tenor voice floods through her and a pained smile pulls along her lips, "Well, well, Christopher Winslow. The world falls to shit and now you decide to visit?"

"I'm not the only person," Rayne isn't familiar with Christopher's nervous shifting.

Ignoring Christopher, Rayne's mind travels back to the fight. She had been stabbed. Lifting up her shirt and pulling down the basketball shorts she was reason for some reason, she drags a single digit along the stitches. Surgical precision. Not like the stitches she gave Daryl all those years ago. There's only person Christopher Winslow would trust with her life and it was the last person she would thought she'd ever see again.

She never realizes Christopher's departure and the arrival of another person.

"Hello, Rayne."

Shuddering at the sound of the familiar voice, Rayne's gaze grows blank as she pulls her stare upright, meeting somber and expressive green-grey eyes, "I suppose I have you to thank for the new threads. So," Rayne pauses, "How's the family? Still alive and bitching?"

"N-no. They're gone," he says with a shake of his head, "I'm...glad to know you are alive. I worried about you being down here all on your own."

Rayne snorts, rolling her eyes, "Yes, because it is so difficult locating Atlanta on a Georgia map?"

"Please," the pleading tone catches her attention, her head tilting as she spies deep remorse in his eyes, "Please, Rayne. Y-You're the only family I have left."

Swallowing down her pride, she turns her gaze to the opposing wall, "I can only stay until I'm healed up. I have to get So-So back to her mom."

"Oh, that reminds me, I want you to meet someone," she watches Brayden stand up and call out into the hall.

Racing footsteps sound before the door slams open. Sophia's blonde hair was dark, her face clean as if she had just taken a shower. Seeing a fifteen year old boy following after Sophia, Rayne feels her jaw drop. The spitting image of Brayden, except the warm brown eyes peering at her curiously.

"I'd like you to meet my son, Raymond," she ignores the nervous shift in Brayden's stance, "Raymond, this is your Aunt Rayne."

Oh dear Lord, she curses inwardly. It wasn't that Raymond carries the same features of the Michaels family. It was the gauged earlobes, the barbell piercing through his left eyebrow and the industrial bar through the top of one of his left ear catching her gaze.

"Hot damn, you earned yourself a rebel," Rayne's voice breaking through her laughter.

Feeling the small arms of Sophia wrap around her, Rayne drops her gaze down to the blonde, her blue eyes looking up with such relief, "I'm glad you're okay, Ray."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just...not mention this to Mr. Daryl when we get back, huh?" Rayne suggests, earning a giggle from the blonde.

Meeting the gaze of her brother, Rayne grants him a curt nod, accepting that things have changed.

* * *

**Leyshla Gisel: Lol...I couldn't stomach killing off Sophia.**

**Demi187: I know, I don't like them being apart either, but this time apart is going to have Daryl understand better on what Rayne meant when she said he had to continue thriving. It also acts as a catalyst to get Daryl to see Rayne as more than someone he needs to protect. Right now, he is a bit possessive, doesn't quite have an understanding on how relationships are about give and take. Daryl's stubborn, so it's going to take a figurative kick in the head for something to sink in.**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus **  
**CapricornML1792  
Callalily8  
CreepyDaisy**  
**Demi187 **  
**Leish Dixon **  
**Leyshla Gisel  
RachelNicole523**  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime  
gleeful-reader **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo  
poppins29  
**

**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

**This is where Rayne's point of view takes over for the majority of what is supposed to be Season Two.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
**_Words Ring Through My Mind_

* * *

Rayne carefully moves into the adjacent room, locating Sophia and her nephew, Raymond, exchanging stories. Unlike herself, Raymond seems to have gained manners, where she never bothered with them, her gaze watching as her nephew stands from his seat, motioning for her to sit down. Inhaling deeply, she slowly sinks onto the couch, the nervous tension from her nephew causing her to grow annoyed.

"So, Raymond," she starts, nibbling on her bottom lip as she wishes for a cigarette, "You and I are going to have problems if we don't figure out who gets the honor of being nicknamed Ray," Her nephew seems surprised and she mildly wonders exactly what her puppet of a brother told him, "and since I was born first, I opt for me getting to keep it."

Raymond chuckles, his brown eyes curious as they look over at her, "You can call me Nick. My full name is Raymond Nikola Michaels. I generally go by Nick."

"Can I call you Nickle?" she questions, teasing her young nephew.

"Are you kidding? You can call me whatever you want," Rayne cocks an eyebrow at the boy, Sophia giggling as she recognizes that look as one she often gives Glenn or Daryl when they're messing with her, "You and my Great Aunt Nicole are my namesakes."

Staring at him dumbfounded, she shakes her head slowly, as if confused, "You're telling me, Brayden named his son after two women hated most in the Michaels' Family?"

"Dad used to tell me that you were the reason he didn't push me in any direction I didn't want to go into. He said he had wished he had the spunk his baby sister had," Rayne blinks, not sure what to think about the situation, "So, did you and Uncle Topher really start a fight at an underground club after your Junior Year of high school?"

Rayne chuckles, "First, don't believe a single thing Topher tells you. He started the fight, I just got dragged into it. Anyway, how are you doing, So-So?"

Sophia bobs her head, "I'm okay. Nick has been keeping me occupied while your brother and Mr. Christopher gather supplies."

"Dad figured you'd want to head out as soon as you are able to hold your own," Nick says, shifting in his seat as he meets his Aunt's gaze, "So, did you really tell Gramps to go fuck himself?"

Smacking the kid upside the back of his head, she gives him a playful grin, "Watch your mouth. So-So's mom will kill me if she picks up on the Michaels' Family mouth. To answer your question, yes. See, I really like drawing and stuff, so I wanted to attend the Art Academy of Atlanta. My...father didn't like that too much."

"Yeah. He told me that being a musician would be a waste of time," Nick sighs, running his fingers through his messy black hair.

"You're a musician? Well, tell me all about it, boy!"

She tries to keep her smile on her face as the teen's face brightens, his hands animated as he talks. Her thoughts drift, wondering what Daryl is doing. She wonders how he's holding up. The upcoming winter months are sure to be difficult for the group.

"Oh Ray!" the singsong call in the familiar tenor voice pulls her thoughts from her...Daryl. "Guess what I've got?"

Christopher slips into the room, spilling the contents of a bag on the table. Several cartons of cigarettes, a couple of palm-sized boxes, pencils and a new sketchpad liters the table, causing Rayne's eyes to widen. Grabbing one of the small boxes, she turns it over and slowly, a wide grin spreads across her face.

"Well, isn't this a sight for a sore eyes?" Waving the box in Nick's direction, she smirks, "Want to give your old man the shock of his life?"

The broad, sadistic grin she receives is the only answer she needs. Thankful for the distraction, she winks over at Sophia, nodding for the girl to follow.

* * *

Daryl stares at the cool, cloudless night sky.

_'Us outcasts have to stick together.'_

His hope in finding Rayne and Sophia is slowly dimming. It doesn't help that he was in more pain than he wanted to admit to the other members of the group. He decided just a few days ago to move himself, distancing himself from the other camp members. It didn't feel the same without his girl by his side. He misses her laughter. He misses the way she smells, the way she tastes and the way her voice purrs out his name. He misses those beautiful eyes, the very eyes that sent a shock through him the day they met. He misses her, just her.

_'You sure you can handle me?'_

There were times where he figured she'd learn she's better off without him around. She smart. Compassionate. Tender. Responsive. He shakes his head, trying to fight down the sorrow filling him. He never understood why she chose him. She's talented. She's beautiful, in an unconventional way. She has so much to offer and he's just...Daryl fucking Dixon.

_'You are mine as much as I am yours. No one, not one thing, not even sex can change that.'_

It did change it. Not in the way most would change. She is his, just as he is hers. Remembering the feel of her skin, the taste of her on his fingers and the way her eyes widened, her lips parted as she fell apart. In his arms. No one else's. Only his.

_'Don't remember getting it, but it's the last thing I'd ever regret getting.'_

His initials. Etched into her creamy, white skin, just above her heart. It alone marked her as his, but it meant so much more. He didn't understand it at first, but as he thinks over it, he muses over her words meaning more than getting a tattoo. She never regretted the time they've shared together. Not once. No matter how much it hurt her already tarnished reputation. No matter how many times she had to patch him up. No matter how many times his anger got the best of him. She never regretted being his.

_'I worry about what will happen if we are ever separated.'_

His eyes burn with the tears of anger, pain and loss, all of them suppressed. Why had he started that argument?

_'I need to know, need you to promise, that if we are ever separated, you won't lose hope.'_

His eyes slam shut as her words echo in his mind. How can he not lose hope? She is his hope. She's the only reason he was even heading toward Atlanta in the first place.

_'I need to know you will be able to keep thriving, keep moving, if we get split up.'_

Pressing the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose, he curses his brain.

_'Just, unless you have proof that I am dead, keep moving on, knowing that I will find you.'_

How? How can he keep moving on?

_'I love you.'_

"Love ya too, Sugar," he murmurs, his tearful gaze turning to the night sky, his cheeks dry as he fights back the urge to let it go. "More than ya can ever know."

* * *

"What the Hell?!"

The look on Brayden's face sends Rayne, Nick, Sophia and Christopher into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Rayne's hair had been trimmed, keeping the length short and choppy, but now sported her original black-cherry red color. Nick's dark hair sported streaks of neon green. Christopher managed to tip his own black hair with blue dye. Sophia sported two single, bold black streak along the hair running along her temple and stopping at her chin.

Brayden shakes his head, asking Christopher to take the kids to the kitchen to eat. Left alone, Rayne finds herself staring into very saddened green-grey eyes.

"Okay. None of us are dead and I promise, the dye isn't permanent. Should grow out within a few months at best."

Brayden shakes his head, smiling sadly, "No. It...looks like the old you. I just...we have to talk."

* * *

"What?"

Daryl glances up to see Glenn standing a few feet away from his tent, the Asian kid slowly losing his nervous ticks around him and slowly earning Daryl's respect. Glenn seems hesitant on speaking, causing the youngest Dixon sibling to glare pointedly.

"Oh, right. I know, with Sophia and Ray missing, you've been have a really hard time. I...I thought you'd want this."

A familiar leather-bound sketchpad is placed in his hands before Glenn heads back up to the Hershel house. Flipping through the pages, he is surprised to find most of the pages filled with sketches of various camp members, some dead, some still thriving. He isn't surprised to see several of himself, Glenn, T-Dog, the kids and there were a few of Rick and Lori huddled together. She cared about these people. She really, honestly cared about these people. Flipping through the pages, he finds a piece of paper folded together, held between the pages. Pulling it out, his finger traces over the familiar sketchy cursive writing, his name staring back at him.

Unfolding the paper, which later he realizes is really two papers, his eyes skim over her handwriting.

_To My Daryl,_

_If you a reading this, there is a great possibility that I am either; one, dead, or two, I have somehow become separated from you. I left this drawing for you, in the hope that you won't give up. Continue moving on. Survive the way I know you can. The apocalypse doesn't stand a chance with you running around._

_Always Yours,  
Rayne Michaels_

Sliding the letter out of the way, his gaze widens at the sketch. A simple picture of him and Merle sitting at the campfire, himself with a cigarette between his lips, both him and his brother sharing a similar smirk as they cut into the guts of their catch that day. He remembers that day. Of him and Merle gutting the squirrels and rabbits, amused by the sickened expressions on everyone's faces. He remembers, the day they left the quarry. His brother is still alive. If he could hope on his brother to survive of all people, he knows Rayne will make.

She's way smarter than either of them.

Feeling a small grain of hope fill him, he glances up at the farm house. Yeah. He'd stick around, especially after seeing exactly who seemed to have caught Rayne's respect.

* * *

She can handle this. She'll be fine. It could be worse.

Rayne glances up from her hands as she hears the familiar footsteps of Christopher approaching. Her old, childhood friend sits down on the bed beside her, throwing a lazy arm over her shoulder. She is thankful for his comfort, but all she really wants in that very moment is her Daryl.

Her Daryl.

* * *

**CreepyDaisy: Thank you for your review. I'm glad you are enjoying the story so much. It pleases me more than you know!**

**astainintime: Yes, rebel nephew. Thought it would be a nice touch.**

**Demi187: Yeah. Figured Rayne is the type to be more weary of human beings rather than Walkers.**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus  
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	11. Chapter 11

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

**This is where Rayne's point of view takes over for the majority of what is supposed to be Season Two.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven  
**_Childhood Washed Away_

* * *

As days dragged on into weeks, and weeks became months, Rayne finds herself preparing to say her goodbyes. Running a hand through her short, choppy black-cherry red hair, her gaze lifts up when a knock sounds on the door. Calling out for them to enter, she smiles sadly as Christopher enters the room. He plops down on the hard spring mattress, his light blue eyes watching as she packs up niceties for the trip. Cocking an eyebrow at his blatant stare, she grows curious when he grins widely at her.

"Just remembering the day when I met the craziest girl I've ever met climbing up to the school roof to get my hacky-sac," he muses, shaking his head as his eyes glaze over with thought, "Imagine, the smallest girl for her age, shimming her way up the drain pipe as if she didn't have a care in the world."

Rayne can't stop the giggle from leaving her lips as she plops down on the mattress beside him, "Can you believe it's been that long? It's hard to believe I have to leave you again."

"There used to be more," he murmurs sadly, "The Marcum brothers, you remember them," Rayne giggles at the memory of the two biggest pranksters she had ever met, "Marcy and Leola," Rayne snorts in good-humor. "Some others that frequented the Underground. Hell, if it wasn't because of Nick being around, I would've done myself a favor and opted out."

Rayne drops her gaze down to her hands, not liking the sound of that. Before she moved to Georgia and met Daryl, Christopher Winslow had been her rock. They didn't share the same bond as she had with Daryl, no one has ever come close, but Christopher was the only constant in a childhood of disappointments and neglect. She can't say she's completely surprised. If she didn't have such a strong desire to live, she would have stayed in the explosion with Jacqui. Quitting wasn't her and it didn't seem like him either.

"Ray?" The childhood friends glance up to see Brayden standing in the doorway, "Managed to find you a decent ride. Siphoned as much gas into it as I could find, but...I have a request."

"A request?"

Brayden pulls up his shirt, revealing foreboding scratch marks along his torso. Feeling as though she swallows cement, Rayne swallows needlessly as her gaze snaps up to meet a reflection of her own. Choking back the words left unsaid, she nods in understanding.

* * *

"Here."

Rayne looks away from her brother and nephew sharing a final embrace. Seeing a pair of black, soft-leather finger-less gloves offered to her, Rayne smiles softly at Christopher. Slipping them on, she takes the time to adjust the always-present purple cuff bracelets so they rest over the Velcro straps of the gloves. Curling and relaxing her fingers, testing them out, she flashes the taller man a small, saddened smile.

"Now listen. There's rumors of a town northwest of here, fortified and protected at all hours of the day and night. You're going to want to take this route," Christopher motions to a back road, "There's a gas can with enough for half of a tank if you run out. Should be enough to get you where you can be safe."

As the map is folded up and placed in her hand, Rayne shudders as she embraces her friend. She knew why he was staying behind. He was opting out, after giving Brayden his final request. Swallowing back her anger at the world, she steps out of the embrace and approaches her estranged brother. Nick passes her, giving her a watery smile before joining Sophia in the truck. The guys managed to find a modern Dodge that runs on diesel, which is actually easier to get at gas stations than regular, and lasts longer.

"I...wanted to say I'm sorry," Brayden chokes out as Rayne pauses before him, "I never stood up for you the way an older brother should, but that never meant I didn't love you."

Shifting her gaze briefly, she nods curtly, "I can forgive you, but...I don't think I can ever return the sentiment," Brayden doesn't appear to be the least bit surprised, but she continues, "You weren't there when it counted. I have someone, a special person, that stood by me when no one else would. Even if you hadn't gotten infected, I'm sure I still would have left. I don't belong with you. I belong with my family, my only family."

"Before you take off, I want you to have this," Taking the soft-leather duster jacket with an over-sized hood, her fingers run over the smooth fabric, "It's going to get cold here soon. It belonged to Aunt Nicole. She would have wanted you to have it."

"Thanks," she manages to get out, uncomfortable with the emotional confrontation.

Brayden nods, pulling her into a short, but tight embrace, "Take care of yourself, Ray. I'll see you on the other side someday."

With no other words needing to be said, Rayne climbs into the truck. Starting the engine, she smiles as her nephew pops a CD into the stereo. Keeping the music low enough to not attract any Walkers, Rayne readies herself for the long drive.

_"I'll try," she said as he walked away._  
_"Try not to lose you."_  
_Two vibrant hearts could change._  
_Nothing tears the being more than deception,_  
_unmasked fear._  
_"I'll be here waiting" tested and secure._

The angry lyrics thumping through the speakers at a low decibel somehow causes a sense of calm to fall over her. She didn't have time to look back. She had two people relying on her for safety and one person waiting for her.

Where ever he might be.

* * *

The winter is long and harsh. The months Rayne and the kids spent holed up in a house, an old cabin in the middle of the woods, had been the most difficult. For the first month, all she could think about was the adult face of her childhood best friend as he said goodbye. She remembers how he had been so insistent, always just hanging around her, even when she wanted to be left alone. How he taught her compassion, kept her from losing herself through the abuse and neglect. He had been the brother she always wanted, and the brother she had, had been nothing more than a passing footnote, a puppet. She muses over how things would be different if she had never met Christopher Winslow. She wouldn't have allowed Daryl to get so close. No. She would have given into her parents, soul-tired of the fighting and struggle. No. Topher had wanted more from her. Encouraged her to stand on her own, pave her own way in life.

Her nephew, Nick, was a good kid. Smart as Hell. Good shot too, although they try to save up on their ammunition. He's quick, efficient and every single day, she found him growing on her. He reminded her of herself in someways. He often stuck close to Sophia, Rayne having explained how they had been split away from their group. He protected the blonde when she couldn't be there. Sophia, slowly growing into her teen years, had started to become stronger, her strength in personality leaving Rayne full of pride. Sophia rarely scared anymore, certainly not of anger. She hoped her mother wouldn't disapprove, but hey, survival is the key here.

As winter fell away into spring, the temperature still cool, but slowly beginning to raise, Rayne and the two teens began packing up their belongings. Piling their things into the bed of the truck, Rayne stuck to Christopher's directions as they tried to find this rumored safe haven.

* * *

It's in the early morning that Rayne finds herself driving down a rather barren road. Catching sight of lingering Walkers out of the corner of her eyes, she glances over, her eyes widening as her feet hit the breaks. Jolting the kids out of their sleep, Rayne points to the prison yard. Nick voices his curiosity as to why they stopped to look at a prison, but she knew Sophia saw the same thing she did. A familiar motorcycle.

"Ray! Do you think it's them?" Sophia squeals with excitement.

"Only one way to find out, So-So."

* * *

"Carl! Carol! Guys!" Beth's voice calls out through the cell block, "We've got company!"

Carl is the first to react, the kid quick to respond, as he races up the steps, peering through the barred window. A large black truck was approaching the front gate. Motioning for Beth to stay put, Carl, Carol and Axel make their way toward the gate. Unlocking the gate, they flag the truck in, each of their hands at the ready. As the engine is cut off, the driver's side door pops open and Carl instantly raises his gun at the hooded figure dropping down to the ground.

"Seriously, kid? After all this time, you're going to aim a gun at my head?"

He knew that voice. He's never heard a voice like it. With shaky hands, he lowers the gun as the hood is dropped, bright green-grey eyes peering at them, lips stretched in a wide grin. Carl ignores all thought as his gun falls to the floor, his small body launching himself at the red-head.

"Miss Rayne!"  
"Ray!"

Carl and Carol both embrace the young woman, who lets out a husky laugh as she untangles herself from their arms, "How did you?"

Rayne jerks her thumb at the motorcycle, "I'd know that damn thing anywhere. By the way, you will not believe the things I picked up along the way."

Carl falls silent as she knocks on the door. The back door behind the driver's seat pops open and Carl tenses as a dark-haired boy drops to the ground. Rayne drops an arm over the kid's shoulder, grinning without restraint.

"This here is my nephew, Nick. Nickle, this little champ right here will give you a run for your money," Rayne states, Carl instantly noticing the familiar facial features between the two. "Oh, and one more thing," Rayne turns back to the truck, "You better get your little butt out here before I drag you out."

Carl can see the passenger side door open, a pair of feet visible from under the car. As a familiar blonde steps around the front of the car, Carl isn't surprised when Carol let's out a joyous cry before launching herself at Sophia.

"Oh my God! Sophia! We...we had no idea where you were," Carol sobs as her embrace practically lifts her daughter off the ground.

"Are you kidding? Sophia's tough as nails, that girl is," Rayne says, bobbing her head in the blonde's direction.

Carl gets his chance to greet Sophia with a hug of his own as Carol turns on the red-head, her sobs muffled by the leather of Rayne's jacket, "My baby. You...you brought me back my baby. How can I ever pay you back?"

"Pay me back?" Rayne grabs Carol by the arms, pushing her back gently, "Carol, your daughter saved my life a couple months ago. If it wasn't for her, I'd be dead right now. Besides, I didn't bring her back for profit." Carol nods, wiping her tears off of her cheeks and Carl tenses when Rayne questions, "Now, why don't you point me in the direction of whatever cell Daryl is holding up in so we can get pass the inevitable fight?"

"He's not here," Rayne's eyes darken at Carol's words, causing the older woman to raise her hands defensively, shaking them, "No! He's alive. He left with Rick. Glenn and Maggie, a recent member of ours, were kidnapped and taken to some town called Woodbury."

Rayne sighs, running her fingers through her hair, "Well, isn't that a bitch," The red-head cracks a smirk at her nephew, "Alright, Nickle. Let's get you introduced to the gang. Grab your stuff."

Carl instantly steps forward, offering his help, earning a smile from a woman he's admired. He can't wait until Dad, Daryl and Glenn come back.

* * *

**Leyshla Gisel: Seriously! Your reviews always make me laugh. Don't worry, he'll get it next chapter!**

**Lilly72: Awww...thanks. I try to write in a way that makes people get into the character's head.**

**Demi187: Not too much longer, promise!**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

**AbbieAwesome **  
**BeckyBooReedus  
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Lilly72  
RachelNicole523**  
**TheGreatWhite **  
**angelsxlivexforever **  
**astainintime  
gleeful-reader **  
**kelizabeth13 **  
**lexigurl0989 **  
**mysticcameo  
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**Thanks again! Leave reviews! Let me know what you like or what you think needs work on!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

**This is where Rayne's point of view takes over for the majority of what is supposed to be Season Two.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve  
**_Reunions_

* * *

Rick Grimes has seen plenty in his life. He should know to expect the unexpected. Returning back to the prison without Daryl is bound to affect every member of the group. He knew Glenn didn't understand Daryl's decision to leave with Merle. Rick understood, probably better than anyone else. Climbing out of the car to help Carol with the gate, he isn't surprised when she asks about Daryl's absence.

Stalking inside, he barely registers Carol following closely, "Wait! Rick."

Waving in a dismissive manner, wanting nothing more than to surround himself by his son and his new daughter, he ignores a group of four sitting in the kitchen area. Feeling a hand grab his own, he glances down to Carl who places a finger to his lips. His eyebrows knit together as Carl motions for him to follow, quietly motioning around the corner of a hall.

It's the voice that catches him first.

"Little Ass Kicker, huh?" the familiar husky feminine voice questions in amusement, "I'd bet a whole carton of smokes he has you pegged perfectly. Don't you think, So-So?"

"I can't believe Lori had a baby," a small, more girly voice replies with a giggle, "You don't think Rick is actually going to let her be named Little Ass Kicker do you?"

A small, smack of skin against skin sounds and Rick peers into the cell, his eyes widening as he watches a blonde girl in her early teens rubbing her forehead, as an older woman chuckles in cynical amusement, "What have I told you about that language? You're mom catches you talking like that, and it won't matter what I did, she'll probably shoot me in the foot or something."

"Her name is Judith."

"Officer Rick!" Sophia shouts, her body launching off of the bottom bunk bed, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Dropping to his knees, he embraces the child he thought they had lost. Looking over her shoulder, he finally notices a young boy sitting on the older woman's other side. Not familiar with the boy, Rick is surprised when the boy stands the moment Rayne pulls herself to her feet, his sweet baby girl, Judith, nestled silently in her arms. Moving to his feet, he grabs her by her shoulders, unable to stop the grin from forming.

"You have to be the craziest person I've ever known," Rick comments, earning a cheeky grin in return, causing him to carefully pull her into a hug, "You are a sight for sore eyes."

As Judith is carefully placed in his arms, he catches the boy's gaze again, to which the boy immediately drops his gaze, "Rick, this is Nick, my...nephew," He blinks in surprise at Rayne's words, her shoulders shrugging, "It's been a crazy year. Nick, this is Rick Grimes. He's a...friend."

"Damn right you're a friend," Rick comments after hearing the hesitance in her voice.

Suddenly, reality falls over him. Shit! How is he going to explain Daryl not being with them?

"Hey, Rick. Hershel says he needs to talk to you."

At Glenn's voice, Rayne's gaze glances over Rick's shoulders before they widen at his bloody appearance, "Damn, half-round, who did you piss off?"

* * *

Shock flows through Glenn and ignoring his injuries, he finds himself embracing the pseudo-sister he thought was gone, "Oh my God!" Seeing Sophia waving at him over her shoulder, his eyes widen even more, his voice growing louder, "Oh my God! You...and Sophia?"

Rayne steps back from the embrace, her thumb rubbing away the blood from his face, "Tell me Karma didn't come knocking you down with a baseball bat?"

Hissing between his laughter, he clutches his ribs, causing Rayne to hook his arm over her shoulders, "It's good to see you, Ray. Kind of missed the entertainment."

"Watch it, boy. Just because your injured doesn't mean we can't grab ourselves some Chinese," Rayne teases, her banter reminding him of how they first met.

The first time he had seen any kind of emotion come from Daryl Dixon. The same Daryl Dixon that isn't here.

* * *

"What do you mean he left?" Rayne asks, trying to keep her emotions under control, her eyes burning bright, "Please tell me you didn't just let him go?"

"Ray, we didn't have a choice. He chose to go with Merle," Glenn answers, Rayne's ears catching the disgust surrounding the name of the oldest Dixon brother, "You weren't there, Ray. We couldn't bring him back in here."

"You couldn't bring Merle, the worst redneck stereotype there is, into a prison?" Rayne questions, cocking an eyebrow as she watches Hershel clean his wounds.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I just couldn't," Glenn murmurs, hating that he disappointed his friend.

Rayne doesn't say a word as she pushes away from the bars, turning on heel so she could exit the cell. Why? She did as she promised. She got Sophia back. She _came_ back for him. Wasn't it enough? Did her efforts not matter? Finding an empty jail cell, Rayne collapses on the bottom bunk, her eyes focused on the bunk above her head.

* * *

In the time that he has known his Aunt, Nick has never seen her so empty-gazed before. Standing in the open doorway of her jail cell, he shudders at the blank stare. She's always laughed, or cracked a joke, or shown anger, but never...nothing. Who was this Daryl? He's heard his name mentioned before, but never asked. The somber gleam in her eyes always stopped him from asking.

"Who is he?"

Seeing he caught his Aunt's attention, Nick steps into the cell, leaning his back against the wall before he slides down, sitting across from her prone from, "Who?"

"This...Daryl guy. Who is he?"

A thoughtful expression appears on her face, "I suppose he's...your uncle," Nick's eyes widen at her words, "Well, as close to an uncle you'll ever have. He's my best friend, my family. He's...mine."

"Do you think he'll come back?"

His Aunt smiles softly, her eyes losing their empty gleam, "One thing I've always known is that he always comes back."

A crash coming from outside of the prison causes Rayne to hoist herself up from the bed, racing out of the room. Nick sees a truck had busted through one of the gates, a herd of Walkers coming out of the back. Rayne nods toward her bag of weapons and he grabs to sniper rifles.

"Nickle, I need you to load rounds and keep them coming," he nods as his Aunt quickly searches the cell block for Sophia, "So-So! Get back to Beth and the baby. Keep your knife with you. Anyone you don't know approach you, hold them off!"

Nick watches as Sophia instantly reacts to his Aunt's command, the small blonde racing off to the cell. As his Aunt slides up to one of the barred windows, quickly taking aim before pulling the trigger. He watches from his own window as each bullet spent pierces the brains of Walkers, his light brown eyes locating the old man, Hershel, laying out in the field. Nick isn't sure how long he watched the scene below him, even as that Asian-guy and the black woman with the sword help Hershel into the truck, a sigh leaving his lips once he realizes they are safe from harm.

"So-So," his Aunt calls out as they approach the cell, the blonde dropping her knife, "Go on. Your mom is probably freaking out."

* * *

Daryl runs a hand through his dark brown hair, following Rick further into the prison grounds. A small quirk of his lips forms as Carol and Carl welcome him back, their grins wide and Daryl isn't sure he likes the particular gleam in Carl's eyes. No. That kid is hiding something. Daryl's thoughts travel inward as whispered arguments and stiff greetings go around at the sight of Merle standing a few feet behind him.

"Mama!"

The cry pulls Daryl out of his thoughts, his body freezing at the sight of a familiar blonde girl racing out to Carol. Carol quickly and frantically embraces her daughter and suddenly Daryl finds it hard to swallow, his heart in his throat. The girl was alive. How? He drops his gaze down to Carl, who offers him a small smirk, nodding his head in the direction of the cell block.

A clatter fills the room, Daryl's grip on his crossbow going slack as he first catches a glimpse of familiar black-cherry red. The world around him seems to disappear when bright green-grey eyes, his favorite pair of eyes, meet his own. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the hurt he felt when she left. Not the possible embarrassment he's about to make out of himself. Nothing mattered more in that very moment than his index finger tracing over the scarred cheekbone, the constant reminder that it is real. His body acts on its own as his fingers thread through her hair, grabbing the back of her head as he pulls her into him. A shudder runs through his body as he inhales Honeysuckle, his lips instantly finding her own, tongue diving into the depths of her mouth in a desperate, silent plea that it was all real. As the body against him tightens, responding to him almost instantly, his fingers grip her hips as he fights back the tempest of emotion racing through him. Breaking the heated embrace, his forehead resting against her own, it isn't until his eyes find hers once more that a low chuckle of relief passes through his lips, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her tightly to him as he looks up over her shoulder. The smiles from Carl, Carol and Rick is all he needs.

"Oh, Sugar, ya have no idea how much I've missed ya," he whispers in a soft sigh.

Feeling her arms around his torso, her cheek pressing against his chest, nuzzling against him, "Oh, believe me. I think I have a perfect idea."

Daryl doesn't bother removing his arm from her shoulder as he leads her to the cells, glancing over at the others, "Do me a favor and y'all fuck off fer 'bout an hour."

Laughter echoes behind him as he leads his girl to his cell.

* * *

Gazing down at the naked body pressed beneath him, he can't remove the smile from his face, nor the softness from his eyes as he leans down, pressing a feather soft kiss over the bold initials etched into her skin. Nuzzling his face face against her the swell of her breast, he flicks his tongue against her skin, tasting her for the first time in over a year. His hand slides up her side, coming up to cup her breast gently as he dips his head, taking the hardened bud into his mouth. He wants her. He wants to claim her, over and over again. His body shudders with need, but he holds back his urges, planning to take his time with his girl. Feeling her arch into him, he nips playfully and carefully along the taunt skin of her stomach, his flat of his tongue tracing over the small dip of her belly button. As his lips travel further south, he pauses as he comes across the raised, white skin of a scar placed over the lowest point of her stomach. It's not a scar he's familiar with, in all the time he's known her, he's never come across this particular scar.

Keeping the information in the back of his mind, he suckles along the inside of her left thigh, inhaling the musky aroma of her body. His hand slides up the length of her thigh, finger running over the length of her slit, parting her gently before the flat of his tongue follows the trail of his finger. Honeysuckle invades his senses as her hips buck, his tongue teasing and suckling at the bundle of nerves located at the hidden bud. Continuing his assault, he loses track of time, waiting for the moment as she falls apart in his arms again.

In his arms.

Licking away the moisture from his lips, he leaves a trail of wet, hungry kisses up the length of her torso, his hardened length pressing against her warm passage. Not waiting any longer, he slowly presses into her, eyes closing as her body surrounds him in a torrent of tight warmth. Hooking one of her legs over his arm, pulling it up, he continues his slow assault, his thrusts firm and determined. Even as he feels himself sink deeper into her warm passage, he memorizes every expression, every feature, every inch of her as her responsive body arches into his movements.

* * *

As the erotic high fades from her mind, she becomes numbly away of the rough, calloused finger tracing over her most recent scar. Feeling his warmth around him, her eyes slide open to see his beautiful eyes inches from her own. Feeling the year's worth of emotional build up slowly breaking away, her eyes prickle with the familiar sting of tears. Closing her eyes, not liking the way his face shows his concern, the feel of his hand cupping her cheek.

"Hey, hey, Sugar," he coos to her in a soft whisper, "C'mon, what's with the tears, huh?"

She inhales deeply, choking back her sorrow as she meets his gaze again, "About a year ago, Sophia and I came across a gang of scavengers. I was jumped," she ignores the tightening of his grip, "I ordered Sophia to run, get to safety. I was so caught up in my worry about the girl that I didn't see the knife until it was too late. Sophia managed to find some help and I was stitched up."

She pauses, trying to catch herself up and let her words sink into his head, "When I came to, I was greeted by the face of my childhood friend, Christopher. I've mentioned him to you on occasion," Feeling him nod slowly, she sighs, "but I knew Topher doesn't have a clue on how to stitch people up with such surgical precision. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the same room as my older brother, Brayden."

"Yer family is alive?"

"No," she murmurs, her gaze staring up at the bottom side of the top bunk, "I have a nephew though. Fifteen. Kid wanted to be a musician. Kind of a rebel like me. Brayden got scratched by a Walker, and as a last request, he asked me to take my nephew with me." Rayne shudders at the memory, "Brayden and Christopher are both dead now, but...Brayden told me something before we left."

Meeting his gaze, she offers him a sad smile, "Daryl, the knife sliced through the wall of my uterus," He seems to understand her words as his grip tightens on her reflexively, "Brayden says it is most likely that I will never be able to have a child of my own."

Before she knows it, she finds her face covered in hundreds of butterfly kisses, his lips kissing every inch of her face, "Sorry I couldn't be there fer ya."

Shaking her head, she smiles softly, "This world isn't the place I'd want to raise a kid in. I've made my peace with it. I just felt like you should know."

"Nah, we have enough kids runnin' 'round here."

"Yeah. Like Little Ass Kicker?"

As his laughter surrounds her, ringing through the cell, Rayne feels a genuine smile pull at her lips as he protests, "I'll have ya know, everyone seemed ta like that name."

Knowing she is finally home, she closes her eyes, barely registering the pressure of a kiss pressing against her forehead as she fades into a deep slumber.

* * *

**Leyshla Gisel: I agree. Season 3 is definitely my favorite so far, but hey, the whole show is awesome. Thanks for the review!**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

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	13. Chapter 13

**Every Scar Has a Story**

**Summary:**

She was a fighter, a rebel, an individual in every way the word means. She became his best, and only, friend. She understood him without asking questions and knew him better than his own brother. Every scar they earned had a story behind it, a story of how they grew together and their relationship became something undefined. They were friends. They were family. Yet, they were so much more. They were simply themselves; Daryl Dixon, a member of the town's most troubled family, and Rayne Michaels, a rebel with the heart of gold.

This is their story.

**Author's Note:**

This story starts out before the outbreak of Walkers. I want to give the readers an understanding of how Daryl and Rayne grow together before shit hit the fan. Their story is told through each scar they earn, most of them Rayne's as she tends to get into a lot of difficult situations. This will be told in Daryl's third person point of view as he tries to struggle with understanding his new, odd friend. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen  
**_Family_

* * *

A familiar warmth wrapping around him pulls Daryl from his slumber. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he glances down at the woman in his arms. Curling her short hair around his finger, the rich, vibrant color brings a flash flood of memories. A whole year. A whole year without his girl by his side. A whole year of the desolation and loss filling his heart. His thoughts drift to the past year. How Glenn seemed to drown himself in Maggie's presence, trying to forget losing a woman that was practically his sister. How he tried to escape, pulling away from the group. The only person that seemed to truly understand his loss had been Rick, allowing him his space to heal. Carol tried, but her sympathetic conversations only reminded him of Sophia, which brought back the torrent of emotions with Rayne's memory.

He drops a kiss to her forehead, inhaling her scent once more. He didn't want to leave her side, but he had seen the dark circles under her eyes, her weariness hidden behind the excitement of reuniting. Deciding to give her time to rest, he removes himself from her arms to get ready for the day. With one last glance, he slips out of the cell, the early morning cricket chirps filling the air, telling him most would probably be asleep. Making his way up the stairs to the guard tower, he pauses at the sight of Sophia and a boy he hasn't meant yet. Both of the teens seemed content, the silence surrounding them. Tilting his head, Daryl takes in the image of Sophia. The once small, timid blonde girl from last year was gone. Her eyes watched the Walkers with a sturdy gaze, her body relaxed and almost serene.

"Are you alright, So-So?" the boy asks, his head turning to the quiet girl, "You haven't been yourself since we arrived."

Sophia sighs, her arms hanging over one of the bars, her forehead resting against the bar above it, "I thought...things would be different. When Mama looks at me, I feel like she still sees me as the kid I was last year. It's...hard. I've tried telling her I can hold my own, but she seems to ignore it. Hell, Carl is younger than I am and Officer Rick lets him walk around with a gun and the keys to this whole place."

"Hey, don't be so hard on her," the dark-haired boy sighs, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, "and don't let Auntie Ray hear you cussing like that," Daryl holds back the reflexive snort at the idea of Rayne trying to keep some kid from swearing. He remembers her cussin' like a sailor when she was the boy's age. Hearing him address his girl as 'Auntie Ray' he realizes this must be Nick, her nephew. "Look, So-So. Your Mama thought she lost you. She's going to try and hold on as tight as possible. Just...let her take comfort in realizing that you are actually here."

"I know," Sophia sighs, her forehead dropping down to the bar her arms are hanging over, "I want her to know I ain't scared no more. I want her to know that I'm not the same girl."

"Give it time, So-So," the boy suggests, rubbing her back gently, "You'll show your stripes at some point."

"You know, Mama said she misses the noise that the world used to have," Sophia glances over at her friend, her words causing Daryl to tilt his head curiously, "I don't think I do. It's so much easier to think."

"Sorry, So-So, but I'm going to agree with your Mama. I miss going to the Underground with Uncle Topher, the loud music and the screaming audiences. I miss being able to ride with the windows down and speakers blaring," the boy chuckles, shaking his head, "Do you think the group will be upset if I get out my guitar? I haven't played in awhile."

Sophia giggles, her hands moving to her lips, "You think we can get Ray bouncing her way around the room while she's in the process of loading a gun? I didn't think it was possible before then."

"Ray's known fer doin' alota things that seem impossible," Daryl comments, causing Sophia to flash him a wide smile, but the boy drops his gaze. "Hey, Soph, ya mind goin' inside. Yer Mama's gonna wake up in a little while and I don't think any o'us wanna watch her runnin' 'round like a rabid animal."

Sophia giggles, dropping a kiss to the boy's cheek before standing up. She pauses in front of Daryl, her arms wrapping around his torso, "I'm glad to see you, Daryl," Her eyes flicker with guilt before she drops her gaze, her forehead pressing against his stomach, "I always blamed myself for Ray being so sad."

Daryl taps the girl on the top of her head, pulling her attention back to him, "Now, listen here, sweetheart. There ain't a single soul on this defective planet that can make a woman like Ray do anythin' she ain't wantin' ta do. She chose ta go after ya, knowin' that she might not make it back. Don't let yerself think any different. Now," Daryl playfully shove her toward the tower exit, "get yer ass back to yer Mama."

Sophia nods before she disappears. Chewing on his thumbnail, Daryl tries to brush off the air of the awkwardness surrounding himself and the boy. Leaning against the guard box, he is surprised when the boy holds up a pack of smokes. Taking the whole pack from the kid, Daryl takes a long drag from the cigarette, feeling himself relax.

"Why are ya goin' 'round carryin' these?" Daryl asks.

The boy snorts in good-nature, "Auntie Ray can be...scatterbrained sometimes. Half the time, I end up carrying stuff just because I know at some point, she'll forget her own," The boy pauses, bringing his light brown eyes toward Daryl, "So, you're Daryl Dixon?"

"Yeah," Daryl nods, "Yer Ray's nephew, right?" When the boy nods, Daryl takes another drag from the cigarette, "Sorry 'bout yer old man."

"I miss him somewhat, but I'm alright with it," Daryl cocks an eyebrow as the boy pauses, and as if sensing the morbid curiosity, the boy continues, "Dad wasn't a bad parent. He tried to understand. Tried with all his might. Auntie Ray understands more than he ever did and...it's comforting."

"Yeah, she has that habit," Daryl agrees, chuckling to himself as he takes another drag.

Nick nods absentmindedly, "It's why Dad gave me named me after Auntie Ray and Great Aunt Nicole. Raymond Nikola Michaels. The first time we spoke, she said we were going to have a fight on our hands trying to figure out who gets to be nicknamed Ray," Daryl snorts, his girl not the type to change in her constant bantering and teasing of others, "So...I feel obligated to say if you ever hurt Auntie Ray, I'll feed you to the Walkers myself."

Daryl lets out a bark of laughter, clapping his hand on the kid's back, "I have a feelin' the two o'us are gonna be gettin' along just fine. Can't exactly disagree. If I ever catch sumone hurtin' my woman, Imma tell ya that the Walkers won't get to them fast enough."

Nick lets out his own chuckle and a comfortable silence falls over the two. Smiling at the back of the kid's head, Daryl turns his gaze to the slowly brightening sky. Just as much balls as his Aunt, insulting a grown ass man like himself.

* * *

_Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up?_  
_Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?_  
_Are we getting closer, or are we just getting more lost?_

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first_  
_Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse_  
_Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words_

Daryl knows he is staring. He also knows he isn't the only one. He can feel a small smile tug at his lips, his eyes soft as he watches along with the rest of the group as the voices of Rayne and Nick harmonized, Nick's fingers dragging the pick along the strings of his acoustic guitar. Seeing the serene gleam in Nick's gaze as he looks over at his Aunt, who flashes him a broad grin, Daryl feels his chest grow warm. An odd feeling. One that he usually associates with Rayne only, but seeing the deep familiar bond between the two, Daryl wonders if it is time to accept another member to their family.

_We live on front porches and swing life away,_  
_We get by just fine here on minimum wage_  
_If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,_  
_I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand_

_I've been here so long, I think that it's time to move_  
_The winter's so cold, summer's over too soon_  
_Let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow_

_I've got some friends, some that I hardly know_  
_But we've had some times, I wouldn't trade for the world_  
_We chase these days down with talks of the places that we will go_

_We live on front porches and swing life away,_  
_We get by just fine here on minimum wage_  
_If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,_  
_I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand...until you hold my hand_

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first_  
_Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse_  
_Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words_

_We live on front porches and swing life away,_  
_We get by just fine here on minimum wage_  
_If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,_  
_I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand_

As the song comes to an end, the entire group succumbs to a loud round of applause. Nick ducks his head, a look of embarrassment spreading across his face as he rubs the back of his neck. Rayne lets out a laugh, ruffling his hair playfully before she stands up, instinctively brushing off her pants.

"I think I have the coolest nephew ever," Rayne teases, causing Nick to grow more red, laughter filling the air around them.

Daryl meets her eyes, winking at her. It is definitely good to have her back. Her natural charisma, the way she seems to effortlessly take their minds off of the outside world, is a welcomed sight. He wonders if things would have happened differently on the farm if she had been there. Thinking back over it, he mentally snorts. No. If he knows Rayne as well as he does, she would've seen the confrontation between Shane and Rick coming from a mile away and brought it up. Yeah. She probably would've ended up butting heads with Shane, and Andrea for sure. Daryl runs a thumb over his forehead, thankful that it didn't leave a scar. Yeah. Rayne would've went ape shit on the blonde.

"You alright, Daryl?"

Glancing over at Rick, Daryl nods his head curtly, "Yeah. Just wonderin' how things woulda gone if Ray had been at the farm with us."

Hearing Rick snort in laughter, Daryl smirks when the man nods his head, "I think the Walkers would have been the least of our worries, between Shane and Andrea. So, what do you think of the kid?"

"He seems alright. Why ya ask?"

Rick rubs at his jawline, his own gaze seeing Nick blushing as praises are given, "He seems...nervous. I've only seen him look me in the eye once, very briefly. Almost like he's been...conditioned to act this way."

"Ray used to never speak unless spoken to," Daryl comments, earning a sharp look from Rick, "When we first met, _I_ had to be the one ta break the silence. It's the way they were raised, I suppose. They didn't live in a family like any o'us down here," Daryl flashes a small smirk to his friend, "Don't ya worry yerself. The kid will break outta his shell at some point. If not, we can always beat it outta him."

Rick seems to understand the hidden message in his words because Daryl feels the once-Sheriff clap his hand on his shoulder, "You're a good man, Daryl Dixon."

Glaring at Rick, Daryl shoves the man's hand off of him, his playful encounter, "Oh fuck off, Officer Friendly. The kid's family. Sumone's gotta keep an eye on him."

* * *

As the day fades into night, Daryl finds himself in the kitchen area, Hershel, Maggie, Glenn and Rick all sitting at the table. He isn't sure why Rayne asked them to get together. Hearing the door open, Rayne walks in with a box in her hand, shaking her head as Rick and Daryl stand to take the box from her. Setting it on a different table, Rayne turns and cracks a smile at them.

"Alright. I understand that Woodbury pretty much declared war on us yesterday and while I'm all for preparing ourselves, I also think we need a moment. I asked each of you in here specifically for important reasons. Hershel, you took care of my people when they had no where to go and I can never thank you enough," Hershel smiles at the young woman, who turns her gaze on Maggie, "You, Maggie, kept Glenn sane and protected him as he protects you. Rick, Glenn and Daryl, the three of you work tirelessly and work yourself to your bones, so tonight, I've decided to do something special for all of you."

Daryl sits upright from his lounging position as she turns back to her box, removing a rather impressive case of beer, setting it on the table in front of them. When Hershel explains about his sobriety, Rayne holds up a finger and pulls out a bottle of sparkling apple cider.

"Where the Hell did ya get this, woman?" Daryl questions, earning a smack along the back of his head.

"I found it in my truck with the things Brayden and Christopher packed away for me. So, Maggie, Gentlemen," Rayne tosses each person a beer can, cracking her own open before raising it in the air, "I will start the toast with my favorite three 'F's'. To Friends, whom I am sharing this with. To Family," Daryl feels her hand drop to his shoulder, "who we would be lost without. And to being Fucked, because when the time comes, we are going to give Woodbury a reason to fear the world."

Cheers and murmurs of agreement sound as each person raise their cans. Daryl glances up from draining half of his beer, meeting his Rayne's gaze before she plops onto his lap. He softly questions why she didn't invite Merle and it earns him a cocked eyebrow before a pointed look is thrown toward Maggie and Glenn. Kissing the back of her neck, he inhales her scent as light-hearted chatter fills the air, surrounding him with a feeling of home.

* * *

**Leyshla Gisel: I thought it over and felt that it was too cliched of a 'plot twist'. I know. Hell, I can't even begin to guess what happens in the season finale. I serious bawled like a baby over the last episode (and that doesn't happen often) because I felt like Merle was finally putting his brother's welfare before his own.**

**Amanda: I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

**Demi187: Thanks!**

**To those that followed my story, big thanks to each of you:**

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